


Emboite

by Inforapoundd



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Love, Possessive Ivar (Vikings), Romance, Slow Burn, Smut, industry inaccuracies, modern ivar - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:27:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23010196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inforapoundd/pseuds/Inforapoundd
Summary: Moving overseas in order to advance her career as a professional ballet dancer, Sarah Pearson meets a brash young businessman at a fundraising auction. After a near-miss poor first impression, Sarah calls upon him for a favour. The two find themselves pulled toward each other and quickly become embroiled in a passionate, addictive affair.On tumblr - @inforapound
Relationships: Ivar (Vikings)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 76





	1. Chapter 1

When our eyes met through the crowded reception, it startled me. It was the bleakness of his expression. As if he had just received bad news and his body was yet to react. I didn’t mean for my eyes to linger but I was curious. Somehow drawn. The emotion just under the surface of his face held my eyes to his and I couldn’t turn away. When he looked away first, I felt almost jarred, like someone had snapped their fingers in front of me. It was the strangest thing.

—

“Fuck off.”

Wincing, he leaned on his crutch, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“You would be less miserable if you sat down.” Taking a sip from his glass of vodka, Ubbe ignored Ivar’s glare, setting his drink down on the tall table in the cocktail area of the ballroom. “Just head to our seats,” he nodded toward the far side of the large room set up as if it were a fashion how. Chairs lined either side of a catwalk with a stage and podium behind.

“I wouldn’t have come if I knew it was going to be like this. What is taking so long?”

“Chill Ivar, it’s a benefit,” Ubbe said, his tone placating. “They want us liquored up before we bid.”

“It’s not too late for you to go,” Hvitserk chimed in, his eyes scouring the females in the room. “I’m surprised you even came.”

Grunting in the back of his throat, Ivar again shifted his weight on his cane, ignoring his drink on the table. “Our father left me chief controller, not you,” he glanced at Hvitserk. “And Freddie said we need charitable write-offs. Mom loved this place….”

“You mean we aren’t here because of your love of the fine arts?” Hvitserk smiled taking another drink but stopped and frowned. “Shouldn’t this be an open bar for how much these tickets cost? And… this is a two-night gig, there’s still that silent art auction thing in a few weeks at the gallery on Hereford.”

“Forget that,” Ivar sneered. “I’ll write the cheque tonight and that will be that.” Picking up his highball of dark liquor, he knocked it back, plunking the glass down onto the table.

—

There was no time to dissect my reaction to the striking man in a dark suit across the room. The tall, handsome Ronan Dorst approached, stopping beside me, standing so close the arm of his suit touched the skin of my shoulder. My black formal gown was not overly revealing, but I still felt a chill from the low neckline and off the shoulders cut. Looking up to him, I flashed a quick smile. Ronan’s smile was so natural, if one didn’t notice the way his eyes roamed the figures of every dancer, performer, server who passed, they would almost believe him to be a gentleman. But, I suspected differently.

“You ready to shine?”

“In truth, I’m trying not to think about it.”

“Meh,” he took a long drink, emptying half his glass. “You are used to being in front of a crowd. It’s all in fun.”

“Says the man who won’t be paraded down a stage in hopes of attracting bids for an awkward supper out with strangers. Anything for the ballet.” I groaned, fidgeting with the glass of wine in my hands. Too nervous for it to taste good.

“I will bid on you and then you won’t have to suffer through the boring dinner with the Ravenhurts. You weren’t here last year, were you?”

“No, I had just been signed.”

“They do this every year. Outbid as many as they can and then throw a large, stiff dinner party at their big house. They like to remind us, peasants, that they are the theatre’s primary donors. Relax,” he looked down, and I could feel his eyes on the skin of my chest. “I’ll rescue you.”

Comforting, I thought, taking a sip of my bitter drink. Looking over at the older couple, the man was wearing a tuxedo and his wife, a purple glittering dress that resembled a housecoat my mom used to wear. They looked sweet. And dripping with money. The entire room was dripping with money, including my charming, googly-eyed friend standing next. How much would they bid, I wondered if they saw my shitty apartment above a laundromat with a bifold door on the bathroom. My eyes skipped back to the three reserved and well-dressed men standing around a table.

“Who are those men over there not talking to anyone?”

“Where?” Ronan gawked, failing at being discreet.

“Closest to the bar.”

Straightening, he looked away, his expression sour as he took another drink. “The Lothbroks. I would suggest you not wonder over.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

“You are too sweet to mix with that crowd.”

“How do you know I am sweet?”

Glancing down at me he rolled his eyes, “Nice try gorgeous.”

Continuing on, he gave me no time to ask questions.

“What kind of bid are you hoping to get? I am feeling generous,” he wiggled his eyebrows looking less and less attractive the longer we talked.

“Ugh,” I grimaced. “Giovanna is lead and Nicole has an incredible following for a second.”

“You are a second.”

“Yes, but they are stars. They can work a crowd. Mikal is a legend and Jono is a straight-up peacock. They’ll bring in the money. Jono will have eyes for all the older ladies with fat diamond rings. I will be happy if someone bids, something.”

The sound of chimes came through the speakers. It was time to be displayed like a cow at auction.

—

“Ladies and gentlemen, we now welcome one of our two understudies. All the way from Montreal, Canada, Sarah Pearson.

Oh god, I exhaled and stepped out onto the shiny surface of the stage relieved that they were clapping.

“Sarah has been with our company for one year. She….”

Tune it out, tune it out, I chanted in my mind, attempting to focus on my breath and maintain a smile. The blaring voice of our director drolled on the details of my life like it was a shopping list. I took comfort, as always, in the blinding lights. They prevented me from trying to make out the features of the faces lining the stage, staring. It all felt like some 1950’s bullshit. The music rattled on, not as loud as her voice over the microphone and I marched forward, careful not to roll an ankle. Wouldn’t that be something?

“Dancing since the age of three and from a long line of dancers, Sarah…”

Hmm, I pressed my lips together now at the halfway point on the walk pleased she left out the details of my ex-ballerina mother now permeant-couch-dweller, chain-smoking, alcoholic. She was usually surrounded by garish glamour photos of herself in a slightly rattier apartment than mine and one that always had the choking smell of ashtrays and Chantilly talc powder. Yes, that snip-it of information would not bring in the bids.

“We will start the bidding at five hundred dollars. Five hundred!’ she immediately repeated pointing in the direction of a paddle being held up in the air.

“Fifteen hundred,” a man’s voice called from somewhere on my left and I knew immediately it was Ronan.

“Three thousand,” a woman’s voice called out and I wondered if it was Mrs. Ravenhurst in her rhinestone housecoat.

It felt as though I should look over, but I pretended to be oblivious to the figures being hurled in my direction.

“Five thousand dollars,” another man spoke, his voice sounding shaky, making me think he was another one of our more elderly patrons.

“Seven thousand dollars,” Ronan interjected, and our director, turned auctioneer, all but orgasmed over the mic.

“Eight. Thousand. Dollars,” the woman called out pointedly giving the impression she would not be rattled by little boys playing with their father’s money.

Would she keep bidding, I wondered, knowing there were still nine dancers to follow?

“Ten thousand dollars!” Ronan shouted, sounding theatrical and sparking the crowd to clap and cheer.

Rounding the end of the catwalk, I began my painfully slow trip back to the stage. The auctioneer repeating and calling, ‘ten thousand going once, twice….”

“Twenty-five thousand,” an unknown voice cut through the excitement. Instinctively, my head snapped in its direction, the lights on the stage stinging my eyes. Squinting, I looked down at the floor with a large black spot in my vision unable to see who had made the bid. Stopping at centre stage, I spun and lifted my face back to the crowd with a smile, listening to the applause.

“Going once!”

Our director was truly embracing the moment.

“Going twice!”

The mallet dropped with a hollow whack.

“SOLD for twenty-five thousand dollars!”

Nice to have the value of my life confirmed with the drop of a hammer.

“Ladies and gentlemen, now THAT is how you support the ballet. Yes, give our generous donor a round of applause. Thank you so much number 24. Mr.…” hesitating she looked down at her podium as if searching a list, “ah, thank you Mr. Ivar Lothbrok.”


	2. Chapter 2

By the end of the auction, I had in fact, received the highest bid. As uncomfortable as the entire event was and surely the awkward supper ahead, I was genuinely pleased for the theatre. Being honest, I was also pleased for myself. That bid would have me stand out to the board and at age twenty-six, nearly twenty-seven, I needed every bit of leverage I could get. I had been in second position to our principal for ten months and I hoped they could see me as the next lead dancer. It was career do or die time and I could not allow a life of pain, sweat, and literal bloodied toes to simply fade away as it had for my mother.

The audience had been ushered through into the attached ballroom where large round, white linen-draped tables filled the space. Breaking from my fellow dancers I headed out, as expected, to meet the man I would share an evening with.

—

Standing to one side, like a well-behaved dog, I waited for him to look up and acknowledge me. Not the most outgoing person, I was typically not this awkward but nothing about this man gave the impression he was approachable. His shoulders looked tense and he stared down at nothing, seemingly distracted by whatever was on his mind. Held in his large hand was a black walking stick with a pewter handle, his middle two fingers tapping some silent beat.

“Hello.” The brother, who looked slightly older, smiled and tapped Ivar’s side with the back of his hand.

Glancing first to him, Ivar finally looked over in my direction. His steely blue eyes locked with mine for a second before he looked back down as if I wasn’t there. Diss. My stomach dropped and my teeth clenched, holding my brittle smile in place. Standing beside him for less than fifteen seconds, to me, it felt like an hour. It was humiliating.

“Mr. Loth…”

“Ivar,” he interrupted, flicking his eyes back up. The expression on his face was severe as if anything I dared to say would be ripped apart.

The brother who had greeted me pushed his chair back and rested his hand on Ivar’s shoulder.

“Dinner will be served soon, just enough time for another drink. We’ll be back.”

Standing, the man smiled again with a look of something in his eyes that I did not register. The third brother, on the far side, rose and the two walked toward the bar, not glancing back.

“Thank you for your generous bid Mr…Ivar.” God, he wasn’t helping me a bit. “A woman named Wynne will be contacting all bidders to arrange reservations…”

Lifting his hand, he waved dismissively, “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m sorry,” my head shot back.

“The date…dinner, whatever. Don’t worry about it. I planned on donating regardless.”

He hadn’t even looked at me when he said it.

“I see,” clearing my throat, I wondered what, if anything, I should say.

So, mumbling some variation of thanks for supporting the theatre, I turned on my heel and walked. No idea where I was headed but I had to keep moving. The skin on my cheeks felt warm. Where was the relief that I was spared from a night with a man like that? Instead, I felt embarrassed. Not to mention annoyed with myself for caring that a rude patron waved me off. I had done my duty. I didn’t need to sit and eat banquet food with people I spent fourteen hours a day with. Not when I could call an uber, go home and eat a mango and instant noodles in a very expensive, borrowed dress. Fuck this…

—

“You what?” Hvitserk leaned forward, flabbergasted, holding a drink in each hand.

“I told her not to worry about it.”

“You do realize how insulting that is?” Ubbe asked as they both shimmied in, taking their seats.

“Is that why she walked away like you just killed her goldfish?” Hvitserk looked at Ivar, who sat, scowling, fiddling with his cane. “I don’t know, Ivar…” Hvitserk continued, shaking his head. “Turning a woman like that away? That is a messed up.”

“You take her out then,” Ivar spat, glancing over.

“Okay!”

“Pfft,” he looked back shooting Hvitserk a pointed stare. “Too bad for you, I wrote the cheque.”

“You are no longer having awkward hookups with what’s her name?” Hvitserk asked, grinning as he took a sip of his drink.

“No.” Frowning, Ivar looked back to Hvitserk. “Is that what she called them? Fuck her.”

“I think that was her problem. You wouldn’t fuck her.”

“I wasn’t feeling it! So… what’s the point?”

“Wasn’t that the same deal with the one before. And the one before her. You didn’t want to sleep with them or was it…”

Ubbe shot Hvitserk a look, his eyes round with warning.

Sinking further down into his hard chair, Ivar scanned the far side of the ballroom, tracking the group of dancers making their way toward their two reserved tables. Taking their seats, his focus landed on the one empty chair at the otherwise filled table.

“This is a waste of my time.” Grabbing his cane, he pushed his chair back and strained to stand. Glancing over at his brothers, he moved away from the table, “Fuck this…”

—

Without turning around, I could hear the sound of his walk. I had never heard his walk of course, but somehow, I knew it was him. One footstep slightly heavier than the other followed by the stamp of a cane hitting the pavement.

He couldn’t possibly be coming to the side boulevard of the hotel because of me? Unless he was not yet finished displaying his arrogance. One thing certain, I was not going to show him the effect he had.

“Let me help you. I’ll call you a car.”

“No, thank you,” I replied over my shoulder, not turning around.

Silence.

The only sounds came from the cars passing up on the main street and the slightest din of music drifting from the hotel.

“Would you like a lift home?”

Now he’s a gentleman, I internally screamed, scoffing in my head?

“I have called an uber, thank you.” Just because he had been rude did not mean I would be.

“Sarah.”

My name slipped easily off his tongue. His raspy, smooth voice making it sound like he was beckoning me. Turning around, I wrapped my black coat tighter around me, squeezing my clutch in my hand.

“If you have come outside to make me feel worse, please just stop.”

Instantly his face changed. As if hit with surprise. “Worse?”

Turning back to the street, I shivered, the spring night air feeling colder than it should.

“How have I made you feel…. anything?”

This time I couldn’t prevent the scoff that slipped out. He sounded so genuinely baffled.

Where would one start a conversation with someone like him? Someone oblivious, or indifferent to his own lack of decency. It was not my responsibility. This was a big week and the sooner I got home, the sooner I could put Ivar Lothbrok and this entire evening behind.

“I’m not sure your car is coming.”

“Here it is,” I announced sounding pleased, if not a little smug. A black SUV turned the corner, its headlights illuminating us both as is slowed to the curb in front. The driver hopped out, rushing around to open the door for me. Glancing back, I looked at Ivar leaning slightly onto his cane, much taller than I had realized.

“Goodnight.”

Stepping up into the vehicle, I slid onto the leather, the door closing between us. Inhaling, I rested my head back against the seat and exhaled loudly. 

The back door on the far side opened and Ivar climbed in, placing his walking stick between his legs.

“What are you doing?” I squinted at him. The light on the ceiling illuminating his dark, perfect hair.

“This is my ride,” he replied, looking straight out the front window.

The driver hopped back into the front and adjusted his mirror. “Where to Mr. Lothbrok?”

“Wait, I,”

“Relax, Sarah,” he sighed quietly but I still heard it. “It is just a ride home.” Turning to me, he lifted his brows, “Where can I drop you?”

Clearing my throat, I leaned forward directing my response to the driver.

“172 Grantville Court, off of 48th.”

The driver put it in gear and pulled away from the curb and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ivar glance over.

“Someone has to live there,” I mumbled feeling like a poor girl wearing a costume.

Yes, I was being dramatic in my deflated state, but the dance company paid peanuts. I was lucky to survive the ten-month season on the salary of an understudy. The two-month seasonal break was no different but I did have a guaranteed position at a small studio, teaching young kids their first steps.

“Dario,” Ivar lifted his chin. “On second thought, take us to Piccolos.” Turning to me, the passing streetlight, brightened his face. “We both missed supper and I’m not taking you home until you’ve eaten. Especially when you’re dressed like that.”

Turning away from me, he looked out his side window and I could have sworn I saw a reflection of his smile in the glass. “And… I did pay a substantial amount of money to dine with you.”

Okay, I could play.

“Mr. Lothbrok, do you enjoy the ballet, or did you simply want to outbid Ronan Dorst?”

His face snapped back to mine, the severity back in his expression. Even in the dim light, I could see the tense muscles in his jaw.

“I told you to call me, Ivar.” Clearing his throat, he strained his neck side to side as if to elicit a loud crack, “I think you will like this restaurant. It’s my favourite.”

—

The restaurant was stunning. Shining white mini lights around the entrance, with round sculpted boxwood planters, mullion French doors, complete with a red front doormat. The waiter or maitre d, whichever they were called at such a place, waited like a solider out front.

The sharp-dressed host greeted Ivar by name and seemed delighted I was in attendance. Ushering us straight through to the back, he collected our coats, settling us into a private booth, tucked off in a small alcove. The ambiance was magical, and I was relieved not to feel overdressed in my black gown.

Champagne was poured, and without gushing, I showed Ivar what manners were.

“This is beautiful. Thank you for bringing me.”

Saying nothing, he subtly nodded. I didn’t know him well enough to say but he seemed pleased to hear this. His lips looked like they wanted to smile.

“What do you like eating?” he asked, looking different in his own environment.

“Oh, I eat everything. Anything, really,” I smiled noticing his eyes drop down to my mouth. Needing to fill the silence I blurted, “Surprise me. You choose.”

After hearing the specials from our waiter, Ivar ordered beat and feta salads, grilled halibut with a miso crust and a bottle of something that sounded expensive.

To my great surprise, Ivar took the lead. He actually asked questions. Asked about my experience growing up in Montreal and how I was recruited to the theatre. Asked about my position in the company. Infinitely more at ease, he maintained eye contact the entire time I spoke, listening to my answers. He looked gorgeous. Fuck. The light from the candle at the center of our table lit his cutting blue eyes, adding a warm tone to his smooth skin and dark thick hair. By the time we were into our meal and I had finished my second drink, his handsomeness was downright painful and I had to remind myself of his earlier behaviour.

“Do you hope to become prima ballerina?”

My laughter erupted into my wine glass, creating an attractive honking sound. He immediately snickered as he swallowed his bite of fish.

“We do not actually call them primas. Or ballerinas even. We say lead dancer or principal. But the answer is yes. Yes and yes.”

I launched into how I hoped to be promoted to the principal dancer when Giovanna, or incredible lead, moved on. Paris was really the next and last stop for her, any of us, and our company measured only slightly behind the Paris Opera Ballet.”

“You would move to Paris?”

“In a heartbeat. I would likely have to sleep in the Metro but, yes.”

“Why would you have to do that?”

“Dancing doesn’t pay well,” I forced out the words, hearing my mother’s shrill voice yelling to never discuss money with a man. “Once you are the principal dancer, the scale changes, particularly in Paris.”

“Hmm,” Ivar said scrunching his forehead. “It must be nice to do something you love.”

“It is all I have ever wanted. Without it, I don’t know who or what I would be. Probably nothing,” I laughed softly. 

“I doubt that,” he smiled back, his eyes never leaving mine as he took a drink of wine. He seemed to be studying my face.

“What?” I furrowed my brow, knowing I would have never asked, one-glass-of-wine ago.

“You have this way of talking where you move your bottom lip more than the upper.”

Reaching up, I pressed my fingers to my mouth. My lipstick long gone.

“Oh… is it weird?” my voice mumbled from under my hand.

Rolling his eyes, he smiled, “don’t cover yourself, I was just…” His smile faded, seriousness returning to his face for the first time since arriving. “You are very beautiful Sarah,” he looked at me with slightly narrowed eyes.

OH GOD! I wanted to drop out of the booth and roll under the table.

“Thank you,” I instead replied, grateful for the fake lashes and ambient lighting. But honestly… I did feel beautiful.

Dessert was placed in front of us and for a moment, I wondered when we had ordered it.

“Chris knows I love Creme Brule,” he explained, noticing the confusion on my face. “He automatically brings it.”

“Ivar?” I skipped topics, wondering about something he had said.

His eyes shot up and I realized it was the first time I had called him by name.

“You don’t enjoy what you do for a living?”

Looking down at his dessert, he opened his mouth and paused as if unsure of how to answer. I worried I had pushed into too personal a topic.

“There was just this assumption…” he began without looking up, his spoon cutting the smooth yellow custard on his plate, “this expectation…that we would all be involved in our family’s importing business. My father passed away and I was shocked that he chose me to take on the more senior position out of all my brothers. There was, is, a lot of pressure. There are five of us. Four now as my half brother moved into straight consulting.” Glancing up, his eyes focused on mine. “It’s just not…what I want to do forever.”

“What do you want to do?” The question slipped out before I could catch it.

Pressing his lips together, he adjusted on the bench seat and I could see he was fighting with himself. Perhaps deciding whether or not to answer. 

“I have a hobby,” he rushed, his eyes finding mine again.

“Yeah?” I smiled, letting him know I was listening.

“I like,” he swallowed, clearing his throat, “taking pictures. It’s just a hobby.”

“A photographer? That’s amazing. See, you do enjoy the arts.”

“I suppose,” he smiled broadly, looking almost relieved, but I could still see his discomfort with his admission.

“You know,” my eyebrows shot high and I took the last sip of my wine. “If you had succeeded in blowing me off, I would have never learned that about you.”

Grimacing, he looked down, shaking his head. “I’m sorry about that. I am bad at this and it wasn’t about you. Just a terrible day and I hate those sorts of events. The thought of sitting down with a stranger forced to converse…. kill me.”

“I’m sorry this has been utter agony,” I laughed, feeling as if the table between us was suddenly much smaller.

“No!” his eyes went round. “On the contrary,” he looked back to me, his parted lips looking soft.

“This is….unexpected.” Raising is hand, he looked out beyond the booth, “I’ll get us another drink.”

“No, thank you. As much as I would love to stay, I do have a long day tomorrow.” Rubbing my lips together, my eyes flitted down to the cleared table, “this has been unexpected for me too.” Looking back up, I was struck by the change in his demeanor. His face had hardened. “Thank you so much for tonight.” The moment felt strained. “And for saving me from Ronan Dorst,” I smiled hoping to save the atmosphere from moments ago.

Running his hand over his hair, he quickly smoothed the coolness in his expression. With a subtle nod, he again raised his hand and called for our bill. The night was done.

—

The ringing seemed to go on and on. Pressing my cell to my ear, the thought hit me, TEXT. Who even spoke on the phone anymore? If I socialized or had friends, I might have realized this before the ringing began.

“Hello.”

Fuck.

“Hi Ivar, this is Sarah… Pearson…from the theatre.” Rubbing my hand across my forehead, I cringed. It had been just over 48 hours since we had supper.

“Yes Sarah, I do remember you.” His tone was flat, but I swear I could hear his smile through the phone.

Choosing not to smash my cell on the floor, I gathered my thoughts as he seemed comfortable to just wait in silence on the other end.

“I’m sorry to disturb you. I, ah, okay, are you free today? By chance. I’m in a pickle.”

“A pickle?”

“Yeah, I could really use your help.”


	3. Chapter 3

Having lived my life in leotards, leggings, and costumes with little to them, I rarely thought twice about how much of my body was on display. Walking toward me, Ivar looked everywhere but at the short, soft pink dress and sheer leggings, I had chosen for the occasion. Without arrogance or his usual stiff expression, he looked almost shy. It was so adorable it hurt and in that moment, I wished I knew him well enough to tease.

Arriving precisely one hour after my distress call, he came through the doors dressed ‘down’ in a grey button-up shirt and expensive-looking jeans carrying not one but two camera bags, strapped across his chest. It was clear, Ivar Lothbrok did not mess around.

“Hi,” I smiled pleased to be on my own turf.

“Hi, you look,” his bright eyes and neutral face did a quick sweep of my front, “…. ready.”

Not uncomfortable, more focussed, he listened while unpacking his gear, placing it onto a long wooden table pushed against the wall.

“We were all asked to contribute something for the silent auction on the 23rd and Derek, my friend, he’s professional photographer,” Ivar’s eyes narrowed, listening to me rattle on, “was set to take two photos of me. One dancing and one wearing a gown provided by Caffrey’s, our sponsor, who provide all our evening wear. Anyway… the photos will be blown up and framed and put out for the auction.”

“You want mid-motion shots or still poses?” he asked, cutting to the chase.

“I was going to leave that to…”

“Derek?” he asked, glancing up from the canon in his hand, his eyes skipping between each of mine.

“Yeah.”

“Got it.” Dropping his eyes back down to his camera, he flicked various buttons, a digital screen lighting up on the back.

“What do you think I should do?”

Looking up, he said nothing, his mind obviously working it through.

“Let’s get some test shots for light and then just do your thing. Forget, I’m here.” With a quick jerk of his head, he indicated he was set.

Moving to my invisible mark on the floor, he took what felt like eight or ten shots of me standing in the center of the room in first position. Adjusting dials and playing with his zoom, he looked through the lens, his other eye squeezing closed, the shutter firing in a rush of clicks. Using a different black cane than the night of the auction, he hooked it on the inside of his elbow anytime he stood in one place. It seemed like an extension of his body, moving it with ease and I knew then his dramatic limp was not an injury but a condition.

It was time. Walking back to the table, I pressed the player, returning to my spot at the center of the wooden floor. The music sounded and I began. Swiveling, I rose up onto pointe, lifting and swinging my right leg in a broad sweep, shoulder height, before dropping and dramatically walking forward with rushed steps. I chose to dance my favourite part of the ballet Coppelia. Leaping high, my extended legs and pointed toes cut and curved through the air. For my size, I had always excelled at grand jetés and knew they often made for an impressive photograph.

My muscles and tendons, calloused feet and bones, blood and soul knew these steps so automatically, so ingrained that my mind could suspend and almost observe. There were few times in life, one could be wholly present, and dancing provided those moments for me. No concerns or past, no fear or questions, no right or wrong, good or bad, just movement. My body simply called forward into this graceful fluidity that felt as natural as taking a breath. So, this piece seemed fitting for such a sensation as the story was about a man who created a dancing doll, void of a mind, who moved so remarkably she floated like some beautiful celestial being. He became obsessed and controlling with her the more people fell in love with her dancing. I felt like a doll twirling and leaping, prancing with delicate steps, void of thoughts, responding only to the pull of the enchanting music.

The last steps were upon me and I rose onto point, extending my other leg vertical to my body, my toes reaching up toward the ceiling. Dropping forward, into a grand révérence, I held allowing the music to come to its end. 

Silence.

Pulling myself up from a deep bow, I turned to look at Ivar. Lowering his camera, our eyes met. He had this confronted look and I could only assume he wasn’t sure what to say. The force of his stare and then a quick flutter of his eyelashes betrayed him though. He was impressed.

Exhaling, I relaxed my shoulders, resting my hands on my hips as I caught my breath.

Strange moments had been happening since I first saw him in that ballroom, and this was no exception. Neither of us seemed to know what to say, and I felt this sense of impatience, wishing I knew him already. Wanting, somehow, to fast forward through this polite unfamiliarity to a place where we talk without feeling guarded. 

“Okay?” I lifted my chin.

“Yeah,” he answered, lowering his cane to the floor, stepping back to his equipment on the table. Glancing back, “More than okay,” he said, turning again to his gear.

Moving toward him, I grabbed my water bottle off the table and took a long drink.

“Thanks…for this. I would have felt like a ninny with nothing to contribute.”

“Ninny?”

“Yeah,” I smiled looking down at the floor, running my hand, out of habit up the back of my hair to my tight bun.

“Pickle, ninny, do they teach these phrases in Canada?”

“I don’t know,” I laughed, subtly shaking my head, pleased to see his broad smile and shining eyes. “Are you okay waiting while I change and clean up for the dress shots? I might be half an hour or so.”

“You want to do those here?”

“I guess. They were going to be done in Derek’s studio but he’s home sick. I’d rather be lit on fire than have you see my place so, yeah, here.” Looking around the room, I could still feel his eyes, watching me. “I could stand by the window or by the grand piano. Whatever you want. You’re taking the photos.”

Turning from the waist, he inspected the large room with its high ceilings and antique crown moldings, white walls and patinaed oak floors. It was a bright beautiful space.

“So?” he squinted one eye and I could tell he had a plan, “Whatever I want?”

“You are the photographer,” I nodded.

“Mine then.”

The playfulness in his smile and straight white teeth were not helping me catch my breath.

“Your what?”

“My place. My apartment. It has large east-facing windows. The light will be perfect for the next couple of hours. Once the sun sets, the sky will be backlit over the city. You will look…” he nodded, raising his brows but quickly glanced down to the camera he held like a security blanket. “It will work.” Looking back up, his eyes searched mine. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

—

I failed horrendously at keeping causal when walking in behind him, carrying my old duffle and garment bags. My steps slowed to a stop as I entered the contemporary, open concept living room, dining room and kitchen, all with a backdrop of massive steel and glass windows.

“This is amazing,” I said looking up at the high ceilings that opened further to a large loft on a second level. Smooth cement pillars stood in the corner of the floor-to-ceiling windows and ran up through the high, soaring ceilings. Like a nerd, I bent down and ran the pads of my fingers across the glassy black floors. “What is this?”

“Polished concrete,” he answered as he flipped through letters that had been pushed through a mail slot in his door. His own mail slot.

My mother’s crudely lined lips and spiteful words came to mind, when you date a man with money, you bloody well earn every cent. I sighed, shaking off her poison knowing that she in some perverse way hoped I would end up on my back, in some director’s office, working to stay relevant. My poor, bitter mother.

Walking to the dining room, I knew immediately it was not a table to place my shitty old sac on. Draping my dress bag over the back of a tall dining room chair, I dropped the duffle bag to the floor.

Turning around, I found Ivar watching me, leaning against the eating bar that separated his dining room and kitchen. There was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes and I wondered if he pretended not to know how good looking he was. Or, perhaps he was indifferent to the opinions of others. That seemed more likely.

“Come,” he walked over, grabbing my garment bag and led me back toward the entrance and into a large bathroom, in which every surface was the same type of white stone. Hooking the hanger on the glass shower door, he turned to me, glancing around the bathroom as if to check that everything was in its place.

“Do you need anything?” he asked, playing with his cane, picking it up and bouncing its rubber base on the tile floor.

Smiling, I shook my head, internally dying at the image of him standing behind me with a flat iron.

“Okay, I’ll be out there.”

—

Stepping out of the washroom, my hair, by some fluke was skillfully styled down and smoothed out with a gentle wave, and my smoky eyes and nude lipstick were masterfully applied, just as Derek and I had practiced. I even felt confident in my spectacular silver heals. Peering down my front, I ran my hands over my hips, smoothing the grey shimmering satin, loving how the draped silky material felt against the skin of my, shaved that morning, legs.

“That was fa..” Turning around, his words caught in his throat. Closing his mouth, his eyes blatantly scoured the length of my body, his expression not filtering a thing. 

I had been a performer all my life but could not remember a single person ever looking at me with that kind of awe.

Glancing down again, I adjusted the seams on the inside of the long sleeves, realizing how much I had wanted him to react this way.

Clearing his throat, he didn’t smile but his body settled as if easing into the reason I was there.

“Okay,” he inhaled loud enough for me to hear and lifted his hand toward the living room. “Let’s start with you in front of the corner window. Maybe even have you lean against the column. God, it’s perfect.” His eyes skipped back down my body. “The silver of your dress with the sky behind.” Pausing, his face softened. “That dress.” His eyes flashed wide and he shook his head with a half-grin.

“Thank you.”

“It’s a good thing you didn’t wear that on Saturday.” Taking the lead, he walked toward the living room, stopping behind a leather armchair. “I would have doubled my bid.”

“I’ll remember that,” I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye as I passed him, heading toward the window. A surge of excitement raced through me knowing that he was seconds away from seeing my exposed skin in the backless dress, cut down to just above my bottom.

“Derek and I picked it out together. So many at Caffrey’s looked like ice capade costumes. I am not a frilly person and he liked the clean lines of it.”

Moving past his low-slung furniture and glass coffee table, I walked toward the corner windows, passing a stunning black ornate fireplace, feeling his eyes burning up and down my spine. Biting my bottom lip to conceal my smile, I wished I could see his face.

“Stop!” he called and I froze, my hands shooting up in front of me, thinking I shouldn’t have walked across his fancy rug with heels on. Slowly looking over to him, he stood beside the armchair, camera lifted, staring at me over the viewfinder.

“Right there. Do not move. Keep looking at me like that.”

Taking his direction, I stayed in place. The clicking of the camera started with a flurry.

With a pleased grunt, he lowered the camera and pressed a button to flip through the images. “God, this is perfect. That is the shot! That is the mother-fucking shot! You look,” lifting his excited face, his bright eyes faltered seeing me again. “You look… perfect.”

“Wow, okay. Thank you.” Shifting my heals, I turned to face him. “That was… fast.”

His attention was already back to the photos on his screen. 

Stepping carefully across the dark, likely hand made rug, I headed back, en route to the bathroom.

“Don’t go,” he blurted causing me to snap my head over at him. “Not yet,” his tone was gentle. His puppy eyes were staring right into mine and I had no doubt this man got anything and everything he wanted in life. “Let’s take more. Just for fun. Hmm?” Bobbing his head, his expression turned playful. 

Jesus, yes.

Like the good girl that I am, I took a seat on the built-in concrete bench that ran the length of the wall of windows.

Coming out of the kitchen, Ivar’s limp was pronounced, in fact, it looked painful without his cane, as he moved toward me carrying a glass of wine in each hand. Stopping myself from jumping to help, I waited, accepting the glass with a smile when he handed it to me. It tasted lovely and cold and was in the most elegant wine glass…of course.

And did we play…. Ivar stepped into his role as photographer, directing me on position, placement, even how to rest my hands, gently tucking my hair behind my ear and tilting my chin just as he wanted. His fingers lingering longer and longer each time they touched my body or hair or the fabric of my dress. The air felt thick when he was close causing my skin to warm and I felt a wave of disappointment whenever he stepped back. I was his muse, his doll and it was incredibly arousing.

The more photos he took, the more I allowed my inhibitions to unravel and it only fueled Ivar to become more expressive, excited even.

“Okay. Now, I’ll have you come to the couch and just do what feels natural. The glass behind with the colours in the sky, ughh,” he grunted, “amazing.”

Turning his attention back to the eating bar, he took a sip of his wine, scrolling through the last handful of shots. With his back turned, I used it as an opportunity to situate myself. Rolling from my seated position on the black leather sofa, I lay down on my tummy, propping myself up on my elbows, letting my heels drop to the carpet.

Spinning to face me, his eyes widened with surprise but he quickly recovered, pressing his lips together and returning to his role. He could not lift his eyes from me though. Could barely blink. Peering up at him from over my shoulder, his gaze dragged down the length of my bare back, holding on the round swell of my behind, naturally arching toward him. The dim, early evening light, made his normally brilliant eyes appear a deep blue. His entire expression seemed darker somehow as if laying below him, taking his every direction drew him into some wicked part of his mind. I had never felt this sensual before and didn’t want the feeling to fade or for him to stop staring at me like I was the most remarkable thing he had ever seen.

Lowering to sit on the glass coffee table, he lifted his camera once again, his lens sweeping up my form, focussing straight in on my face. Looking directly into the lens, I wondered if my expression was as yearning and wonton as I felt. The air had definitely shifted, and perhaps the glimmer or suggestion in my heavy-lidded eyes gave away my desire. Either he knew the contents of my mind, and how my body was responding or he felt the same as the intensity in his gaze rapidly grew. Faint grunts of approval, running his tongue over his lips, even outright murmuring how incredible and beautiful I looked, swearing under his breath.

I had to consciously control my breathing. The force of his stare, peering over his camera, sped my heart. How could he be doing this to me? It felt crazy knowing that I had only just met him but would not have stopped him from crawling over me, sinking down against my back and grinding into ass. Just the thought made me nearly rock my pelvis against the leather couch, needy for pressure on the tingling between my legs.

“You are so perfect, Sarah,” he whispered, and it occurred to me how often he used my name. I had never liked my name but somehow, the way it slipped from his tongue always with an exhale, it sounded anything but plain.

Two more clicks, three, the camera felt like the only barrier between us now as he slid closer to me, up the table. The image of his smooth, plush lips pressed to mine flashed through my mind and I exhaled loud enough for him to hear.

“Sarah,” he whispered again, my eyes still fixed on the lens of his camera as if hypnotized.

Click. Beep, beep, beep.

“For fuck sakes,” he snarled loudly, lowering his camera. “Don’t move. Don’t move.” Pushing himself up, he rushed, teetering as he walked without his cane, leaning on the back of the furniture to the bar. “Let me just change the battery and we’ll keep going.” Glancing back quickly as if to make sure I was still there, “God, have I really taken over a hundred photos!” he laughed sharply, dropping his head back. He was giddy.

“Ivar?” I pushed up on the couch to sit, combing my fingers through my tousled hair, attempting to blink off the spell I felt under. I needed to move, get some air before… well, I wasn’t sure what, but something was going to happen if I stayed splayed out like a dog in heat. I barely knew him!

Turning back to me, frustration flashed through his features but he stopped and looked at me. No, scrutinized, me.

“Ivar, I think I need to…”

“Who is Derek?” he cut me off, the question catching me by surprise.

“The photographer I told you about.” Not reacting, he stood waiting for me to continue. “Actually, he was one of the first people I met when I moved here. He is the photographer for the theatre, or I should say the theatre is one of his clients. He took my headshots for the company and we became close. It was nice as I was new to the city. Didn’t know anyone. Still don’t really.”

“So, it is more than professional between you?” he narrowed his eyes as if confused by something I said.

My stomach fluttered and I suddenly felt odd sitting across the room from him. “Yes,” I replied realizing that clarified nothing.

His eyes flashed again and he glanced down at his camera. I could see the steeliness in his gaze when he looked back up. “So, he dates the new ballerinas?” 

Ignoring the insinuation, I answered, “He is my close friend and one who is far more interested in… ballerinos.” My brows spiked high on my forehead emphasizing my meaning.

Tilting his head to one side, he squinted further, before, “Oh!”

Locking eyes again, we looked at each other longer than what felt appropriate and I wondered if we would have reconnected if Derek hadn’t serendipitously fallen ill. Sooner than later, my instincts told me.

“I am going to go and change,” I finally said, needing to say something.

Rising from the couch, I picked my heals up off the rug and headed toward the hall for the bathroom. The room had become shadowy and I stared at the floor as I walked, gasping when he grabbed my wrist, pulling me toward him, my hair flying out of place.

“Sorry,” he spoke quietly, letting go of my arm. We were standing close. “Don’t change,” his voice was just above a whisper. “Let’s not waste that dress.” His eyes dropped, sweeping across my chest. “Can I take you back to Piccolo’s for supper?”

“Twice in one week?” I smiled softly, inwardly thrilled by how he was looking at me.

Shrugging, his eyes watched my mouth, waiting for me to answer.

Giggling, a little too loudly, two thoughts occurred, I really did need to eat after two glasses of wine on an empty stomach and I was no where near ready to say goodbye. Lifting my chin, my smile widened, “We are creatures of habit, are we not?”


	4. Chapter 4

The atmosphere had shifted. More for him than me perhaps. There was an energy around him, an openness. He smiled more when speaking, gesturing with his hands. Actually, told me about himself. About his role in his family’s importing business and tales of the trouble, he and his brothers caused when they were young. Their fighting so brutal, I was surprised they were all still alive. He spoke about the condition he was born with. The ongoing pain and struggles, touching only briefly on the multiple surgeries he had in attempts to stabilize his brittle bones. He talked about losing his father who had been in and out of his life growing up, always preoccupied with business. It was a mental download of sorts, listing the events of his life as if he had just emerged from some form of emotional confinement.

Then… he spoke about his mother. The adoration and sorrow in his words, in his eyes and in the way he held his entire body, braced, nearly made my tears fall. It was beautiful and shattering the way he described her and their bond and how he struggled, still, to be close with anyone since losing her five years ago. Listening, I wanted so badly to reach across the table and take his hand in mine as he explained the feeling of being alone in his grief. His brothers not effected in the same way and never understanding his heartache. Telling him to man up and get over it.

“Some things you don’t get over,” he said in finishing, looking up with wide eyes.

“Some things you don’t get over,” I agreed, nodding softly. Leaning forward, I looked straight into his raw eyes. “Hopefully, we just learn to live with it a little easier.”

Our eyes stayed fixed on one another’s, but I still noticed the way his adam’s-apple dipped with his swallow. The way he ran his tongue over his bottom lip, preparing his next words. There was more he wanted to say.

“I have never brought anyone here before,” he blinked looking down at our plates of barely touched food.

“Really?” I was genuinely surprised. “I must be special,” I laughed lightly.

“You are.”

Heat bloomed on my face and I glanced down at my wine, needing to escape the intensity in his gaze. Something was happening with us. I had been feeling it all day and now I knew it wasn’t just in my head.

In my peripheral, I saw the waiter moving toward our table and I was relieved for the interruption, worried that if I looked back up at Ivar, my soft blush would turn a crimson red.

Glancing up, I flinched, Ronan Dorst stood beside our table; looking as startled as I likely did.

“Ronan!” I exclaimed.

“I saw you over here and wanted to say hello…”

“Now you have,” Ivar cut in, a clear threat in his tone. Barely turning his head, he narrowed his eyes up at Ronan.

There was no question, these two knew and hated each other and if I had been Ronan, the disdain in Ivar’s cold face would have had me running out the front door.

“This is quite a surprise,” Ronan said, bobbing his head as if to taunt. “A step up from your usual company, Ivar.”

My eyes shot back to Ivar and he all but growled at Ronan’s words.

“But then, you are no stranger to paying for women.”

Slamming his hands down on the table, Ivar gripped the edge and began shifting out of the booth to stand. Leaning forward, my hand shot out, grabbing his wrist, nearly knocking over our bottle of wine.

“Please don’t,” I rushed.

Flicking his eyes back to mine, his attention stayed fixed on my pleading face, silently asking him to ignore Ronan’s provocation. 

“Please,” I repeated in a whisper. 

The fight of his fury showed on his face as the muscles in his jaw flicked under his skin. In this strange moment with Ronan intruding on what we were creating, I felt like Ivar’s safety ring. His voice of reason.

“Go,” I said to Ronan in a disgusted tone, never taking my eyes off Ivar’s.

Scoffing loudly, Ronan shook his slicked-back hair and turned, stalking away from our table.

Looking down, Ivar lowered back into his seat, ruffling his suit jacket as if shaking off dust. He looked barely constrained as we sat in silence for some time. Anger simmering under his surface and me too shocked to say a word.

Without looking up from the table, he began to speak.

“Her name is Rebecca and I grew up with her. We all did. She is an escort for…,” inhaling, his voice trailed off for an instant, “for… various reasons. I am not good at dating.” His eyes darted around the linen tablecloth. “When I need a date, I often take her. I pay her. She needs money. She knows Ronan…but I have never, ever, not even once slept with her. Not once. We used to make out after school on the couch in my parent’s family room, but I swear to you, Sarah,” his eyes shot up to mine, “I have never paid for sex.”

“I believe you.”

That was the truth, I did.

“You do?” his eyebrows lifted.

“Yes…. I don’t think you are someone who needs to lie. Or explain themselves. Not to me, not to Ronan Dorst. It is none of my business anyway.”

“I want it to be.”

There it was.

It was my turn for my breath to hitch. He was looking at me with such sincerity, almost desperation. Jesus, he was asking me a question with his beautiful wide eyes. 

Before my mind could think of how to respond, he slid out from his side of the booth and moved around toward me, sliding onto my seat. Lifting his arm over the back of my shoulder, he placed his hand down between my bare shoulder blades. Immediately whimpering, I closed my eyes as a shiver ran through my body. His touch felt charged and I wanted more and God, did he ever smell good.

“Sarah,” he whispered my name like it was a confession. A line formed between his eyebrows as if the thought of me caused him pain. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to mine, and I felt my fate seal.

His lips, oh God, his lips. His soft, warm, beautiful lips pressed against mine. I had never felt anything so delicate, so intoxicating, even the room and its soft light seemed to spin around us. Every sense in my body sparked and I kissed back, opening my mouth for him to slip his tongue inside. He moaned in what sounded like sweet agony, and I answered with a whine as he slid his warm hand up my neck, curling his finger into the back of my hair.

Pressing harder, his tongue slid in and out, tickling over my lips and tongue. It grew more passionate as our mouths followed the rhythm of the other. I had never experienced a kiss like this before. Felt another’s emotions so powerfully through such simple affection. It made me think, every kiss in my life had merely been preparation for this moment. For him.

My heart raced and I squeezed my thighs together to dampen the ache beginning. When he pulled back and looked at me with desire and longing, I knew he felt the same.

Touching his forehead to mine, his other hand gently landed on my thigh exposed by the high slit in my grey dress. Slowly he pushed upward, shifting my dress higher up my leg and I pulled my head back.

“We shouldn’t.”

Flinching, he frowned as if I had just slapped his face. Utter rejection showed in his eyes and gone was any trace of passion.

No!

Lifting my hand, I cupped his rigid cheek, bringing my mouth back to his.

“I only meant not here. Take me home.”

—

He had left the lights off when we entered his apartment, leading me down the hall to his bedroom by the hand. The only light was a blue hue coming through the blind-less windows from the city below.

Lying on our sides, facing each other, the anticipation buzzed in the air between us as we stared into each other’s eyes. The low light reflecting in his brilliant blues, his face painfully handsome. 

Running the backs of his fingers down my cheek, he looked at me as if I couldn’t possibly be real. As if I was some fleeting apparition that might evaporate from his grasp. I had never felt more desired in my life. There was such honestly in his touch, his hands skimming across my skin, my neck, my chest and down my sides to where my dress was fastened.

Taking his time, he pulled the zipper down my ribs, helping me to sit up so he could lift the fabric up my waist and over my head, dropping it to the floor behind. 

Rising onto my knees, I kneeled before him, helping him undress, removing his shirt, pants, and briefs, everything until we lay naked together. It felt ceremonious. Meaningful. As if we were baring ourselves and preparing to formalize a decision that had already been made.

Embracing, our arms and legs entwined, our lips reconnecting. His mouth was soft and his breath warm, his movements passionate with an edge of need that my body instinctively responded to. My skin tingling like it somehow recognized the feel of his. It was exhilarating, making my heart pound as my hands roamed his broad shoulders, tight stomach, and his defined chest; my fingers running through his thick dark hair. His body was astonishing. Sculpted, with skin that felt as soft as the material of my dress. And, by the way his eyes closed, his breath held, I knew my touch felt as sacred to him as his did to me.

It was powerful. Overwhelming. My chest fluttered and I felt alive, hungry for more. I just wanted more.

“Sarah,” he whispered with longing in his voice, and the way he said my name pulled the air from my lungs. 

When his lips found mine again, gone was the frenzied kissing and heavy hands from the elevator ride up, instead, his mouth‘s tender movements matched my own, our lips, my lips, swearing some silent vows that we would never again feel alone.

“Sarah,” he repeated, his voice almost breaking. His face looking anguished.

“What is it?” I pulled back, my face mirroring his.

“I haven’t stopped thinking of you since that sidewalk at the hotel. Your face…its burned into my mind. Then today, watching you dance, taking your picture… it killed me not being able to touch you. Having you here now….it feels like a dream. You look like a dream.”

Closing my eyes, the fluttering returned to my stomach and I felt tears spring behind my eyes. Hugging me tight to his warm body, this strong, fierce, dominant man, needed reassurance. Needed affection, my affection.

I kissed him hard. My mouth and tongue hungry, my emotions pouring out into his mouth. My hands running all over his body, up to his face, down his neck and over as much of his back as I could reach.

Lifting my leg over his hip, I pulled myself closer to his body, feeling like he was still holding back. When his hand grabbed and squeezed the cheek of my ass, I rolled my hips against him, encouraged by the size of his stiff erection. Grunting into my mouth, the flood gates opened, and he ground his hips back, his tongue delving deeper. Groans of relief and desperation, desire and comfort coming from us both.

Between our close bodies, his standing cock rested on my belly, mere inches from my aching core and the anticipation was killing me. My wetness making my folds slip and slide against each other as I rocked my hips toward him.

“Ivar,” I whimpered, and he leaned up, covering my mouth again with his. My body wanted to race but something told me to savour it as this intimacy marked the beginning of something important. 

Moving my hips forward, the underside of his hard shaft slid between my lips causing him to suck air in through his gritted teeth.

“Sarah!” he exclaimed, grinding his cock back against me in search of more of the slippery sensation. “I’m trying so hard not rush, but,” he pressed his forehead to mine, and I could see the tortured look in his eyes.

“It’s okay,” I whispered as I tilted my hips forward, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance. In one fluid movement, I pushed down hard, plunging on to him, gasping as he filled me so perfectly.

Mouth gaping, his eyes flashed wide. The feeling of his length and thickness, stretching and spreading my walls was so intense, so rousing, I struggled with whether to stay still and enjoy the wave of pleasure rippling through me or move and rut hard against him.

Deciding for me, his hand grabbed my hip as he carefully slid out, almost to the tip and pushed back in, moaning loudly, his eyes staring into mine. It was profound and I understood how some people wept after making love.

Beginning to rock my hips in time with his, I began panting from the delicious feeling of him inside, but I wanted more. I wanted everything. Wanted his mouth on mine, cock plunging deep, hands everywhere. I wanted all of him.

“You… feel…God…” his strained words fell quiet. 

The thrusting of his hip sped, my own hips now braced in place receiving him as he drove deep, the angle perfect, hitting some sweet spot I had only heard of.

Reaching around my hip, his fingers found the back of my entrance, grunting at the feel of my slick coating his length as he steadily pumped in and out.

Hissing, he kissed me, his tongue diving back into my mouth.

“This is so much more than what I imagined. You are so fucking perfect.”

I felt I could climax just from the emotion in his words.

“More,” I whispered looking at him and his eyes narrowed with desire, his movements getting stronger. “More,” I tipped my head back, my walls starting to contract. Ivar knowing exactly what was happening and what I needed. “More,” I repeated as he began pounding into me, my arms gripping tight around his neck.

Feeling the climb toward my finish, I panted loudly, my hips beginning to buck, chasing my release. I couldn’t stop.

“I’m going to…” I mumbled as he pushed his tongue back into my mouth.

“Me too.” He broke away. “Can I cum in you?”

“Do it.” I breathed as my orgasm crashed over me, my mind suspending and my womb contracting with a snap. Freezing, I couldn’t even grind against him while he slammed toward his own end. Dropping my head back again, I couldn’t stop the animal sounds coming from me as he rutted hard, again and again, one last time, before thrusting and holding deep, shooting his warm load inside. Fuck, it felt amazing, the sensation prolonging the quivering inside me. Him throbbing and our juices mixing together. 

I lost track of where my hands were, grabbing his ass, his back, his built shoulders. Feeling near delirious, it was only his firm grasp around me, his cock still inside, that held me down to earth.

Cupping my face with his gentle hand, he brought his lips back to mine and kissed me, his body still shuddering from the strength of his climax.

“Fuck,” he lowered his lips to my neck, and the top of my shoulder, his hands, running down the side of my face, my arm, my breast, my behind. “Sarah,” the seriousness in tone pulled me back from the cloud of bliss I was adrift on. “I want to be with you so badly. I just…” he shook his head,” I’m crazy about you. Tell me we’ll be together.”

Ivar Lothbrok, without arrogance, without his cool, abrupt exterior was asking me to be his girlfriend. My heart could have exploded. 

Opening my eyes, I pressed my lips to his face, peppering kisses across his cheeks and nose, finally back to his mouth. 

“I want to be with you too.”

And with that, we were bound.


	5. Chapter 5

Cracking open my eyes, the room was dim but the warm light coming through the windows told me morning wasn’t far away. Sneaking out from under the warmth of Ivar’s smooth skin and plush duvet, I tiptoed into his bathroom to pee, wash my face and rinse my mouth with water.

The stone floors were cool under my bare feet, making me shiver, my muscles and lady parts feeling wonderfully tender. Even his seed slipping out as I went to the bathroom made me feel oddly content.

I wasn’t sure why I had told him it was okay to finish inside. Swept away in the moment I suppose or perhaps after years and years of infrequent periods, I assumed my body to be infertile. Dancing full time since graduating high school, it hadn’t been since grade 12 that I bled monthly. That was also the last time my body weight was at a healthy level when I wasn’t pushing myself as I was now. Like everything else, my health was another aspect of life I would deal with, one day when there was time and my goals had been realized.

Back at the bedside, I stood looking down at the nude from-the-covers-up Scandinavian God. His short hair was puffy and soft and his sensational lips pouting in his sleep. The word boyfriend tumbled around in my head as I gazed down at him, wondering what that even meant. Did I know how to do any of this, be a girlfriend? Did I even know him? Did it matter? I was already hooked.

Having been with only two guys in my entire life, I was far from experienced with this sort of thing, purposely steering clear. There had never been time and the reality was, there still wasn’t. As incredible as this all felt, I could not let it, him, disrupt my focus. It was career do or die time and the clock was ticking.

But Ivar….God, I sighed lightly, he was consuming. The strength of the attraction between us, the emotion behind what we shared. It was blinding and we had only just started. The thought of him looking at me from behind his camera, kissing me in the restaurant, his lips on my body, his whispered words, sent chills down the backs of my legs.

“Would you stop staring at me and get your sexy ass back in this bed?”

Without opening his eyes, he rolled from his tummy onto his side and lifted the quilt. Climbing back in and settling down in his cozy cocoon, I lay facing him, wrapping my arm and leg around him, back into what felt like our position.

In one swift move, he scooped me and dragged me below him, rising onto his elbows and quickly settled between my legs. Ah, I loved the feel of his weight pressing me down onto the bed, his firm morning erecting digging into my skin.

Touching his lips to mine, I pulled away, looking to the side, “I haven’t brushed my teeth.”

“Tough,” he replied forcing my mouth open with his. Shifting down, he dropped his lips to my throat and then chest, sucking my sensitive nipple into his mouth and gently tugging and murmuring as his hand kneaded my other breast. Switching sides, he sucked and swirled his tongue around the other nipple, giving my chest more attention than all the men I had ever been with combined.

“Christ, I love these little tits,” he groaned, pulling himself back up, his mouth landing on mine. Tilting over, he reached down between us, his fingers slipping between my already wet folds, growling and running his teeth with soft bites down my cheeks to my neck. It felt amazing. The way he touched and kissed me, I could sense how elated he was that I was there, waking up in his bed, naked and completely his.

Moaning under his breath, his lips pulled back to mine, his tongue dipping into my mouth, teasing me as his fingers slid back and forth over my clit, my hips instantly starting to rock in time with his movements. I was ready for him, my body craved him, and it occurred that this is what people meant when speaking of chemistry. We had it in spades.

Lifting onto his forearms, he grabbed the base of his cock and ran his soft tip between my slick folds, coating himself, before pushing slowly in. Moaning with relief, he dropped his head down beside my face, his breath loud in my ear, digging his other hand under me to grab and hold the back of my ass. Covering my mouth again, he kissed me, his movements agonizingly soft, his hips and hard cock buried deep and holding in place.

“I just want to feel you,” he whispered, dropping his lips to my ear. “How warm and tight you are around me.” No longer able to lay still, I rolled my hips up, grinding on his rigid length, his fullness feeling like it barely fit.

“Baby, easy,” he groaned, “I’m so sensitive. God.”

Closing his eyes, he carefully withdrew and gradually pushed back in. The anticipation of the next thrust made my mouth fall open, my breath turning to a pant, wanting him so badly to thrust in hard. Rolling my pelvis up to him again, I could see the strain in his face, bracing, as I wiggled around him.

“You stay still,” I whispered, unable to stop from smiling at his sweet discomfort. “I’ll move against you.”

Slowly, I rocked my hips up toward him, his body staying rigid. Bucking harder, I ground up, the trimmed hair above his length, rubbing directly on my clit. Whimpering, I increased my pace, sliding up and against his large perfect cock, grinding, feeling his hardness.

Pushing my feet down onto the mattress, I thrust up harder and faster, needing him deeper and chasing the friction against my clit. My arms gripped around his neck, virtually hanging from him, as I jutted forward, rutting almost frantically over and over.

Squeezing his eyes shut, his lips pulled back into a silent snarl as my movements found a rough rhythm.

“I, I,” attempting to speak, my voice was lost in the feel of the head of his curved cock rubbing that special spot inside me, my orgasm building, forcing me to hold myself up against him, grinding as hard as I could.

“Baby,” he rasped as my legs began to shake, my walls squeezing, making him feel even larger. “Yeah, cum baby, cum all over my cock,” he rushed into my ear as my arms released from his neck, my upper body flopping back onto the bed as my peak hit. With a grunt, he dropped down from his elbows, his warm chest covering mine and began thrusting hard knowing I needed him to move.

“You’re my princess,” he groaned, his strokes hard and deliberate, keeping the same pace. “God, you are gorgeous.” His face hovering over mine, he stared into my barely open eyes.

A second wave of pleasure rippled through me, erupting from my core. Whining loudly, I could do nothing other than whimper as he continued sliding in and out, his fingers between the cheeks of my ass, pulling me up toward his rocking hips.

“You’re my baby,” he hissed between gritted teeth, his eyes now wide, “You feel so fucking good.”

Grunting loudly, his movements became fast and jerky before he thrust in so deep in felt sharp and poured his cum inside.

Slumping onto me, we lay like two lumps of bliss, sweaty and delirious, catching our breath.

Eventually, his slack weight pressing down on my chest made it hard to breathe had me shifting under his body stirred him from his lethargy. The squishiness between us made me inwardly cringe as I pictured what his navy blue sheets must look.

Rubbing my cheek against his, I savoured the feel of his sideburns on my skin.

“I have to get going,” I whispered.

“No.”

“I need to get to the theatre for eight.”

“No… stay.”

“I wish.”

“Than do it.”

Lifting his head, he peered toward the clock on the nightstand before flopping back down against my neck. “It’s only just 6:30. I’ll take you in a bit. Just a little while longer,” he mumbled, his lips moving against the skin of my throat.

Shifting, I squirmed under his weight and with a sigh, he climbed off, rolling onto his back beside me. Looking over, I could see that his mood had instantly shifted, he stared up at the ceiling, his jaw jutting forward and his forehead showing the lines of a scowl.

Sitting up, I scooted to the edge of the bed wondering if he actually thought I would stay all day. Didn’t he also have to work?

“I’m going to shower,” I said, not prepared to be that girl to ask what he was thinking.

“Hey,” he called and I looked back over my shoulder.

“Want company?”

He wasn’t smiling but I could see the hopeful glimmer in his still dozy eyes. Jesus, how could I deny that face anything?

—

An hour later, we were in his vehicle and I wondered what kind of hours Dario worked. Was he always just on standby? Could Ivar not drive because of his legs? It wasn’t the time to ask, so I adjusted back in the seat, leaning into Ivar’s shoulder, feeling the tenderness of our last round in his large glass shower, riding him as he sat on a built-in bench that stretched the entire length.

Lifting my hand, he kissed my knuckles, before leaning down to my ear. “You’re beautiful, Sarah.”

Laughing, I rolled my eyes, looking up to his handsome face thinking how I must actually look - frizzy half-dried hair, no makeup and wearing yesterday’s dance gear wrinkled from the bottom of my bag. What a journey we had been on in four days. Gazing up at him, the way his soft eyes stared into mine, I believed he thought I was beautiful.

“Give me your phone.”

Passing it over, he took a photo of himself frowning and locked it into my contacts with his number. “Now you can see my angry face when I call, and you know you have to answer.” Grinning like a brat, he handed it back but I knew, despite his smile, he was half-serious.

Arriving, I looked up to him again.

“I’ll talk to you later.”

Leaning down, he pressed a soft peck to my lips, pulling back but instantly kissed me again, peck after peck until I giggled and pushed him back. The door opened, and Dario stood to the side as I slid out. The fresh air filled my lungs as I walked toward the front door of the theatre, literally feeling amazing, rejuvenated. Moving through the entrance, I hoped my dance partner, that morning, would not be able to tell that I had just been shagged inside out.

—-

That evening, I pushed through the doors of the theatre exhausted and heading for my forgotten home. A door opened from the back of a black SUV pulled up to the curb and Ivar’s cane touched the sidewalk as he stepped out from the open door.

My smile faded when I saw his stern face, his movements rigid as his eyes swept up the front of me. Confused by his cool demeanor my footsteps slowed as I approached.

“Hi,” purposely, I kept my face bright.

Clearing his throat, he stepped aside and lifted his arm toward the door. “Get in. I’ll take you home.”

Once seated inside, he climbed back in, taking my hand and lifting it to his lips to kiss. Without looking at me, he spoke in the direction of his window. “I missed you today.”

Watching the side of his face, his eyes skipped from building to building, over the passing scenery as we drove, and I wondered why he sounded so disappointed. Straightening, I looked out the front, realizing by the direction we were headed that when he said home, he meant his.

Settling back against the leather seat, I pressed my lips together, wishing I was going to my own place. After the whirlwind few days on top of practice, I ached for a hot shower and to simply flop onto my bed, eat scrambled eggs and read some romance fic.

Not talking all the way up the elevator, I wondered why he even wanted me there. Where was the open-hearted Ivar who expressed his undying affection the previous night and morning? It all felt so strange now.

Walking in, I could see he was leaning heavily on his crutch and I guessed our night of love-making left him in pain, no doubt adding to his current mood. Heading to the living room, he left me standing in the front entrance. Oh yes, I knew this man. Why was I acting so surprised? This was the very same Ivar I first met in that ballroom who dismissed me with barely a second glance.

“Close the door and come here,” not turning to look, he spoke over his shoulder. Frowning, I closed the door and stood in place a moment before following him into the living room. Stopping in front of the glass coffee table, Ivar was already seated on the leather sofa, his dull eyes boring into me.

“Are you alr..”

“Did you dance like that?” He cut me off.

“Like what?”

“Wearing that?” he jerked his chin up toward me.

Glancing down, I instantly knew he was referring to my leotard. Having removed my leggings, I realized to his eye, it looked like a one-piece black bathing suit. My coat hung open and my legs were bare from my hips down to the top of my grey Ugg knock offs.

“Yes.”

Scoffing lightly, his eyes didn’t fall from mine, just held in place.

“So did most of the other girls as the south windows all but cooked us this afternoon.”

I knew my tone was defensive, but I didn’t care. Looking away, he rolled his neck, staring off toward the dining room.

“You were going to catch a cab like that?”

“No, the bus.”

Snapping his head back, he gawked in disbelief and I saw a flash of anger flit behind his blue eyes.

“The fucking bus, Sarah?”

“I was going to do up my coat, Ivar. It’s longer than some girl’s dresses…if that is what this is about. Are you upset?”

Looking down at the coffee table, I could see him struggling with what to say next.

“You,” he exhaled out his nose, shaking his head. “You don’t know what men are like. What they would be thinking, looking at you like that.” Shaking his head again, he ran his tongue over his bottom lip as if holding himself back. “What they would… want to do.”

Christ, he was upset. It was adorable and eerily possessive. Regardless, I felt pathetically needy for his affection from that morning. Not knowing where we stood, I couldn’t help wanting to pacify him. Is this what it will be like though? Jealous Ivar and me wanting to soothe him and make it all better. Part of me, a tiny part, thought I should turn around and walk out and never look back. But I didn’t. In fact, I did the opposite.

“What do you… mean?” I asked in a naive voice, batting my eyes. “What would they want to do?” I tipped my head to the side like a confused baby doe.

Squinting, he studied me, dropping his head to one side. A glimmer of wickedness in his eyes. Inhaling, he flared his nostrils and I couldn’t help but feel a thrill at my effect on him.

“Take off your coat,” he ordered. His voice low.

Taking my time, I slipped it off, letting it drop to the floor.

“Come here,” he tipped his head to the other side.

Slipping off my boots, I walked between the coffee table and couch, dropping down to my knees to crawl the rest of the way. Pushing between his legs, I sat back on my heels like an obedient little puppy, staring sweetly up at his smug face.

“I’m sorry if I upset you.” My tone was innocent, as I ran my hands gently up his legs, tracing circles around his knees.

Frowning, his face changed, his eyes softened, looking almost vulnerable.

“You don’t understand what you’ve done to me,” he whispered.

Reaching forward toward my chest, he looped his finger inside the strap of my leotard, running his thumb delicately back and forth over my nipple through the thin black material. The sensation made me close my eyes and press my crotch down against the heal of my foot, my wetness already blooming.

Sliding my hands up his grey pants, I skimmed over the top of his large bulge making him flinch. Hooking my fingers under the waistband, I eyed him, and he lifted his hips allowing me to pull his pants down his thighs. His perfectly smooth, erection lay hard across his leg. Taking it in my hand, I leaned forward, and all but inhaled it into my mouth.

“Hmmm,” came from deep in his chest, as he settled further back on the couch.

Swirling my tongue around his tip, I ran the flat of my tongue down his length before fully engulfing him, bobbing deep, his head hitting the back of my throat.

Hissing, he flexed upward, and I was encouraged to wrap my hand around his base, slowly pumping his shaft in time with the movements of my wet mouth.

Beginning to breathe loudly, he dropped his head back, relaxing into the feel.

Loving the taste of him, I wanted more. Shifting higher on my knees, I found a rhythm with my hand and mouth.

“No,” his voice startled me.

Lifting his head, he looked down at me, his eyebrows pinched.

“No,” he repeated.

Hesitating, I lifted my mouth, my hand still around his base. Before I could say a thing, he reached forward and swiftly pulled me up by my arms, rolling me to sit beside him. Shifting forward on the couch, he lowered to the floor, his pants still down, and opened my legs roughly, moving between them.

“I’m going to show you what men will think when they see you dressed like that on a fucking bus.”

Reaching up, he tugged the top of my leotard down, jerking me forward, exposing my breasts, my nipples pushing up and above the top of the scooped neckline. Satisfied with this, he lowered his hands pulling me by the backs of my knees forward. Spreading my legs further, he roughly yanked the crotch of my leotard to the side.

“No!” my hands shot down to cover myself. “I haven’t showered. I’ve been dancing all day.”

“Good,” he snorted.

Smacking my hands clear, he dropped forward landing his mouth right on my open sex. Growling like a mad dog, he licked and laved, sucking my soft folds and clit right into his mouth. The slurping sounds and his grunts echoed through his quiet apartment and his cutting blue eyes continually flicked up to me, staring, watching my reaction to his eager mouth.

“This is what they will want.” He lifted his face to speak. “Your pretty little pussy. This is my pussy.” Grunting again, he looked possessed and I wondered if he’d be chaining me up after, feasting on my other body parts.

Dropping his mouth back, he pointed his tongue and ran it hard over and over my clit until my stomach contracted and my legs began to shake. Reaching up, I held the back of the couch, pressing my face against the inside of my arm. The muscles in my legs jumped and I flexed my cunt up towards his face, crying loudly as my orgasm hit.

Licking and lapping my wetness, he straightened on his knees and pulled me forward, flipping me over so my tummy lay flat on the couch. Still coming down from my climax, I made no noise, just allowed him to move me like a ragdoll. Reaching between us, he pulled my leotard further to the side, touching his hardness to the back of my opening before pushing in, in one smooth thrust. Stopping when he bottomed out, he held in place, and I shifted my knees further apart, tipping my bottom up to better receive him.

Moaning against the cushion at the warm feel of his chest covering my back, his lips kissed and sucked my shoulder before burrowing into the side of my neck.

“Are you mine, Sarah?” Withdrawing slowly, he pushed back in.

“Yes.” I rushed, my entrance still contracted and quivering from my finish.

“Completely?” with dragged out and pushed back in.

“Completely,” I panted and honestly, I would have agreed to anything as his cock slid in and out.

“You are so beautiful. Fuck!” he swore, pumping me over and over as I arched my backside up to him. Straightening he rose from my back and I whined from the loss of his warmth.

“I thought about you all day. Made me so fucking happy.” His strokes were smooth and slow and I felt overwhelmed and worshipped all at the same time. “You’re my princess,” he whined, his words filled with emotion. My mind soared and my insides ached for him to move faster, deeper. “In a moment, I’m going to fuck you hard and cum fast and then after we can shower.” Tilting back at the waist, he picked up his pace, his balls beginning to slap me exactly right. “Then I will order us supper and after we can take our time making love. Okay, baby?” The pace of his hips increased, snapping forward and back.

Down the rabbit hole I went, “Okay” I mumbled, holding onto the couch as he started to pound into me, his breath turning ragged.

Suddenly, he whipped out, his strong arms lifting me again, flipping me onto my back, quickly grabbing himself he drove back in, making me scream out. Pushing my bent knees up to either side of my body, he rocked his hips forward, dropping one hand, and began rubbing his thumb over my clit.

“Fuck,” I shouted, tipping my chin up and squeezing my eyes closed. My legs wanted to straighten but he held them in place. I came so fast and hard, it hit me like a battle ram. The sensation too much, too sensitive, making me feel dizzy; my walls pulsing tight around him.

“Baby?” he rushed.

Cracking open my eyes, his wild blue eyes stared back at me.

“Spread your pussy.”

“Huh?” I breathed, unsure of his meaning.

Pulling out, he gripped his shining cock, and snarled, “Open your pussy for me!”

Quickly reaching between my legs, I pulled the lips of my pussy apart, just as he pointed his cock and shot thick spurts of warm cum all over my raw, pink opening and clit, covering my wetness with his own. Grunting like an animal, he shuddered, his other hand falling forward onto the couch for support.

There was no double left in my mind as to where we stood, I had just been claimed. I now belonged to Ivar Lothbrok.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I have thoughts for an epilogue. Let me know if there is any interest.

We fell in love, blinding love, totally consumed by the other. Dance was the single and only part of my life that prevented me from being swallowed entirely by Ivar’s passion. I was his obsession and I loved it. Within a month we spent every moment outside of rehearsals and weekend performances together and when the seasonal break came, I taught ballet and we were glued at the hip for the rest of the time. Exploring the city like visitors, going to movies, countless suppers out, being that couple who couldn’t sit without tangling in each other’s arms on the same side of the table.

Mornings, evenings, stolen moments in the day were spent making love. Our bodies moving as if in some race to absorb the other. Within a few months, there wasn’t a part of me, not an inch, not a speck of flesh, he hadn’t claimed and worshipped. Not a single thing two bodies could possibly do, that we hadn’t. His hands on my skin, my face, my tummy, everywhere, felt as familiar as my own. Always, always the moment he pushed inside me, his words of devotion would flow, how beautiful I was, how perfect I felt around him, how much he needed me, how lucky he was to have me, that I was his baby, his woman, his princess. It was fiercely intense and dangerously addictive without a moment to catch my breath. His relentless lips inhaling me, tasting me, gulping up every whimper and cry of his name.

Within half a year our bodies new the other so intimately, our love making could stretch hours or just a minute if that’s all that time would allow. Never parting without him reminding me that he was mine and I was his and that we fit together. It was true, we did. Was it healthy? Probably not but I didn’t care. He was unlike anyone I could have dreamt of. Not an easy man but a remarkable one. A man of extremes and complexities with an immense ability to feel. His brilliance and passion as vast and powerful as his fear of being without me. There was a pain inside him, it had been there long before me but somehow, he felt it less when we were together.

His moods, oh my god. They were overwhelming with his immediate reaction always being hurt or rejection. Our fights at times were brutal. Arguments that would start the same way each time with my desire to return home for a night or two. Heading back into season, I wanted to rest and refocus, get used to waking up in my own space in anticipation of the opening season.

Without fail, it would catapult him into a tailspin of anger, even despair. He refused to understand my desire for space or time alone, particularly after the man had purchased me everything I could ever want to keep at his place. Pajamas, clothing, toiletries, goddamn matching sweatsuits to his.

In truth, I didn’t really want to be away from but I felt I should. Should as an exercise in maintaining some shred of independence.

Opening night at the theatre was just over a month away and we were already fighting about my upcoming rehearsal schedule.

On those nights when I would simply walk out, leaving him to sit alone in the dark and brood or smash something against his concrete floors, I still lay awake on my crummy pull out couch and ache for him. Sometimes even cry for him. My body feeling adrift without his arm over me or his chest against my back anchoring me down. I’d wake in the morning to sometimes a dozen texts, the last few always sounding defeated. Was I like a drug to him? Possibly.

When I would return, he’d just embrace me, not allowing me to sit anywhere but in his lap, the hurt immediately forgotten. Always making me laugh by being a dork, doing something stupid like shoving his head up my shirt, pretending he was lost or someone had turned out the lights.

Ivar Lothbrok was the love of my life. My partner and my very best friend and I couldn’t imagine life without him. And one day, in an instant, with a single phone call, everything changed.

—-

“Hello.”

“Sarah!” Wynne’s urgent tone pulled me from the haze of sleep. Ivar’s heavy arm over my side.

“Wake up.”

“I’m awake.” Pushing down on the mattress, I forced myself up, leaning back against the headboard. Scooting toward me, Ivar again draped his arm across my outstretched legs. “What’s up?” I asked knowing by her rushed voice that this was not a call about scheduling.

“It’s Giovanna. She’s been tapped.”

“What?” my eyes shot wide. “Seriously?”

“Yes, Paris baby. And guess what else?”

“What?”

“You’re up girl. You’re in. You got lead. Board decided this morning. This is your official call.”

Mouth gaping, I couldn’t say a word.

“Sarah! You’re our new principal starting opening night. 4 weeks today.”

“Oh my god,” I replied in a whisper, looking down to Ivar’s face, half-buried in his soft pillow. As if feeling my eyes on him, his armed squeezed my legs. 

“Right!?”

“Wow.”

“Yep, get in here so we can talk about your contract. Practice for you starts, like now.”

“Yeah, okay. Oh my god. Ok. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Dropping my phone onto the duvet, I exhaled loudly, closing my eyes. The thoughts were entering my brains so quickly, I felt as if I couldn’t hold on to a single one of them. I needed to get to the theatre. 

“Ivar, I’m dancing lead.”

Looking up, he withdrew his arm, turning onto his side.

“I gathered, congratulations.”

“Giovanna…. she’s going. I learned so much from her. Now, I have to be her?”

“No, baby, be you. You’ve earned this. We should celebrate,” shifting closer, he lifted his head, extending his arms and yanked me by the waist down beside him.

“No,” I smiled, pushing meekly on his chest as he leaned in kissing the side of my face. “They are expecting me.”

“I’m expecting you,” he smirked rolling onto his back, heaving me over to straddle his waist.

“Come on. Let me just slip it in really quick before you go.”

“Ivar! Really romantic,” I laughed, looking down, pushing my legs further apart as his hands slid up my thighs, grabbing my hips and grinding up against me.

“I’ll make it the most romantic 3 minutes of your life.”

“Okay,” I laughed again, pulling off my camisole, bending down to get my morning kiss. 

—-

The first week, I rehearsed full days often staying into the evening. Declining Ivar’s offers of picking me up or bringing me supper at the theatre. Hyper focussed, I did not want any interruption or distraction, not a single break in the pace I had set. At first, Ivar was understanding but within days, I could sense his hurt.

When I would arrive to his place late in the evening, he would go through the motions of being the supportive boyfriend, rubbing my feet, offering food, a hot bath but I could feel the resentment. His love making was needier, demanding, even pushy. Or, perhaps, I was beginning to detach. My mind, previously filled with thoughts of him and us, was consumed with preparation and the expectations of the following day’s practice. That and my body needed sleep, terribly. Not two hours of sex when I was already facing a short night with an early morning start.

Around and around we went the first week, the more I withdrew, the more desperate he became for my affection. Constantly needing reassurance. By the second week, I just couldn’t return to his place after rehearsal. I walked into my apartment, looking around as if I had never lived there. Texting him that night, I lied. My first ever lie to him. To my best friend and the love of my life. Said there was a problem with the water lines and the building manager had called. Explained that since I was already there, I was just going to head to bed.

The following night, I again returned to my apartment, and the night after that, my excuses sounding weaker and weaker and his frustration only growing. I started leaving out the back door of the theatre like some woman in hiding avoiding her abuser who may or may not be waiting in an SUV out front. My Poor Ivar. His only crime was loving me fiercely, compulsively. But I just couldn’t deal with it.

He called and called and texted. I began hitting the DECLINE button as I had no idea what to say and no extra energy to diffuse his upset. I was exhausted and it was make or break time. Do or die. I didn’t want us to be over. Not at all. Hitting that red ignore button on my phone was me wanting a pause. A pause on us - our relationship until after opening night, after the first couple of weeks when I had proven myself worthy of replacing Giovanna and beating out Nicole the other second. New steps, a new role, the pressure of representing the theatre, not to mention, the ticking clock counting down the dwindling timeline for my career. My life! Twenty-two years of ballet and in a matter of weeks, it would all be put to the test.

Ivar was an intelligent man, he loved me and wanted me to succeed but he had never known hunger. Couldn’t possibly understand what it was like to be a woman fighting in a world filled with talent for a chance. With no money, no family to fall back on. His circumstance and mine weren’t his fault but in the back of my mind, I worried his need for me overpowered his ability to support my success.

The truth was I loved him. I wanted to spend my life with him, but I couldn’t deal with him now. After two weeks of this cat and mouse game, a switch flipped, and I stopped all communication. No more excuses. Nothing.

Asleep one night on my pull-out couch in my studio apartment, a knock on my front door woke me at 2am. Like a cold-hearted coward, I froze, laying in my bed, pretending I wasn’t there. The knocking turned into banging and I literally pulled the covers up and cried. Cried because I needed him to leave me alone. The noise stopped and at some point, he left. When I opened the door in the morning, there was a bouquet of pink tulips thrown on the dirty carpet of the hallway. My poor Ivar. He was hurting and I kept shutting him out.

My phone blew up with texts for days and days, angry and demanding and I deserved it. Every word. How does a person cut another from their life like that? The last I read before turning off my phone was a plea for us to meet at Piccolo’s to talk. I couldn’t. It would not be just supper. He would want more, everything, and I would give it to him. I needed to stay away. By the third week, his texts stopped. No more calls or long voicemails.

As much as I kept my mind on the steps, on the music, on my breath, my heart ached for him. Physically hurt as I sensed his rejection and pain. I was torturing him and at the same time, I had to dance like I was as free as a bird.

—-

The black SUV should have stood out to me but it didn’t. My mind was on the morning ahead as I raced down the sidewalk at 7am with a paper cup of coffee and my gym bag slung over my shoulder. The door of the vehicle opened, and my steps slowed as I noticed the familiar sight of Ivar’s cane hitting the sidewalk and him stepping out from behind the door. Nearing dropping my coffee, my eyes widened, shocked at how broken he looked. Pained, angry, pale, his blue eyes watery as if he hadn’t seen sleep in days.

My reaction? I glanced at the door of the theatre to calculate whether I could make it inside before he could stop me. Who had I turned into? I wasn’t afraid of him so why was I doing this? Had I subconsciously, or even conscientiously decided that being with him would cost me my career? Like I had cost my mother’s when she was left pregnant.

“Sarah.”

Sounding like a ghost his voice pulled me out of my thoughts, my focus returning to his hardened face.

Sarah?” he repeated again, frustration flaring in his tone. “You can’t be bothered to pick up my calls or even make excuses anymore? I have to come here, and catch you off guard like an insane person? Baby,” he pleaded, his face contorting with emotion, “I, I can’t believe this. Any of this. That you can just drop us.”

“Ivar, I can’t do this right now.” My brows pulled together, and I knew I looked like I was begging.

“You are going to blow me off when I am right in front of you? Sarah! If I’m awake, I‘m missing you. Fuck! I can barely…” looking down, he shook his head, shuffling his cane and I could tell he was working hard at controlling himself.

“I will call you later. Tonight. Ok?”

“But you won’t,” he shook his head again,” looking up.

Breaking from his intense glare, I dropped my eyes to the pavement, holding back the wisps of loose hair flying around my face. I didn’t know what to say. I just needed to get inside.

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” I whispered, stepping forward and heading for the front door.

“Wait,” he cried, and I felt a tug on my gym bag and shoulder. Snapping my head to look, his hand was gripping the side of my bag.

I must have looked panicked as when I pulled away, he quickly let go, sending me tumbling sideways, and down flat on the sidewalk

“Baby!” he yelled, shuffling over me, his hands grabbing trying to pull me up. “Baby, I’m so sorry. Fuck, are you alright? It was an accident. I’m so sorry,” he rushed, looking horrified.

Awkwardly he pulled me up onto my feet, spilled coffee all over the pavement. “Are you okay?” he reached forward and I stepped back, blocking his embrace.

As if I had kicked him in the groin, he gasped at my rejection.

“Baby, I didn’t mean for you to fall.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“I know!” I shot back impatiently, straightening my clothes. “I know it was an accident.” Looking back up to his sad eyes. “I have to go.”

“Sarah, are you alright?” a man’s voice came from the theatre door. Turning I saw the guy who did our lighting, standing in the doorway, holding the glass door open.

“Is she alright?” Ivar’s head shot back. “I’m trying to talk to my girlfriend, thanks,”

“Doesn’t look like she wants to talk to you.” He yelled back, matching Ivar’s volume.

“It’s none of your goddamn business.” Ivar barked over my head.

“That’s enough,” I muttered, turning back to the theatre.

“Todd, it’s okay. Thank you. It’s fine. Really. I’m coming right in.”

Nodding, Todd flashed Ivar a poignant look before letting the door close.

“What kind of fucking name is Todd? Is he some teen lifeguard?”

“Ivar, please,” I kept my voice soft, turning to look at him, embarrassed by the seen we were creating. “Just go. I know it was an accident. Please,” my voice cracked, and tears began to fill my eyes. “I can’t do this right now. I’m….” shaking my head, I felt everything inside me shatter, all the pressure of opening night less than a week away. “I can’t do this Ivar,” I repeated, throwing my hands up frantically, my voice wavering.

Frowning his eyes bore into mine, “Can’t do what? Us?”

“Yeah.” I choked out the word feeling no relief. “I can’t do us…anymore.”

“Baby…” his eye narrowed, his mouth falling open in disbelief, “don’t do this. Please,” slowly he shook his head, uncertainty, fear, devastation in his startling blue eyes. His hands hung heavily at his sides, his fingers twitching like all he wanted was to reach for me and wrap me in his arms.

“I’m sorry Ivar,” I whispered, taking a step back. I had to put him out of this misery. “It’s over.”

His eyes flashed wide with the final blow and I turned toward the theatre, making my way through the front doors without looking back to the man I had felt was my forever.

—-

It was time. Opening night. The steps ingrained in my mind as if I had choreographed the ballet myself. I could dance them without music, without cues, in the pitch black, prepared as anyone could be.

Sitting on my chair in a dressing room, I stared into the mirror. My eyes and brows heavily lined, the border of bright lights reflecting in my eyes and I felt…numb. No, not numb, I felt sad. Empty. There was a dull hum inside my head dampening any sense of nervousness or excitement. I glanced at the screen on my phone for the hundredth time in an hour but it was still black. No messages.

Leaning forward, toward the mirror, I inspected my make-up again, turning my head side to side, the harsh rouge on my cheeks stretching up to my temples. I felt ugly. Hideous. Like a monster who could eat her own young. Placing my arms across the table, I lowered my head, resting my forehead on the edge.

A knock on the door startled me and I lifted my head peering into the mirror at the reflection of the door behind.

Wynne poked her head in, “Knock, knock,” her black bob framing her round face. Opening the door wider, she stepped in holding a vase of pink tulips.

“We usually have to wait until the end of the show to get flowers,” I said. 

“Not you miss. Not when you have your own cheerleading section.”

“Hmm?” I squinted, the pressed powder on my face feeling as if it might crack.

“Ivar,” she lifted the vase slightly, frowning as if I should know what she was talking about.

“What?”

“You guys are still not talking? He’s in the balcony with his family.”

“What!” I spun in the chair, turning to look at her. “How do you know?”

Entering, she kicked the door closed behind and walked over, placing the glass vase on my make-up table, quickly taking a seat at the next station.

“A group of gorgeous men, two of whom have women with them, and all have the last name Lothbrok.”

“Oh my god. I’ve never even met them.” My eyes shot wide. “Ivar never wanted to because of family tension…” shaking my head, “the oldest two are married. It must be…” my voice fell silent. Saying nothing, I looked down, fiddling with the sheer material of my costume. “Wynne,” I whimpered, “I’ve been so terrible to him.”

“Awe don’t worry. You have all season to make it better.”

“What do you mean?” lifting my chin, I looked back up to her.

“He’s reserved the balcony every Saturday until the new year.”

“What!” 

“Yes, he must be loaded.” She jerked her head toward the huge bouquet. “There’s a card there.”

Reaching for the vase, I spun it, grabbing the white envelope with gold trim tucked inside the rim.

“Shit, do you think I should read it before I go on.”

“Up to you but….yes. You are obviously thinking about him and he’s here so he’s obviously thinking about you.”

Blowing air out between my lips, I tore open the envelope, pulling out the card.

“Stay though, okay? While I read it?”

“Yep.”

Looking down I was hit with a surge of excitement as I saw that the card was completely filled with Ivar’s perfectly symmetrical writing.

Sarah,

I know that I acted horribly and was out of line the other day. I am not sure anyone will ever understand what having you in my life means to me. It’s no excuse though.

I am so proud of you and how hard you have worked to get here. You are such a strong person and I hope you are not upset that I had to come tonight and watch this incredible moment in your life.

I fell for you the second you got into my car that night at the auction. Hopelessly and completely and I acknowledge how smothering and controlling I’ve been since. I have never felt this way before and was terrified that if I loosened my grip, you’d slip away. It left you feeling divided and I know I put you in the position where you felt you couldn’t have it all. I should have been championing you toward your dreams from the start. You deserve everything.

I accept your decision to focus on your dancing and I will support you from afar. I wish I could have been there with you tonight, taking your photo, kissing you good luck before you went on but here we are.

My brother asked why I was so broken and why I was convinced I had to be with you. I know in my heart, in my bones, that it just won’t ever be anyone else. What I’m saying is that I love you, Sarah. I love you. I know that I have never said those actual words. God, I should have. A thousand times. They just never felt big enough and I have seen what people do to each other who use them. But I love you.

Lastly, I’m sorry I didn’t know how to do this better.

Enjoy every second of tonight. You will be amazing.

Yours,

Ivar.

Pressing the card to my chest, I slouched against the back of the chair, closing my eyes, willing away the tears.

Emboîté, emboîté, the voice of my first ballet teacher rang through my head. Emboîté, she would call out to us little girls floundering like ducklings across the vast wooden floor.

Turning to Wynne, I smiled, sniffling through my tears. “Do you have a pen, and can you take something to Ivar? Right away?”

—-

Dear Ivar,

There are things to talk about but most importantly, I am so incredibly sorry and I love you too. So much. I want us to be together, in fact, I want to move in. Formally move in, if you’ll still have me, of course.

No matter how crazy life gets, let us have the comfort of each other every night and together learn how to do this properly. I will see you after the show and I am so glad you are here. It would not be the same without you.

Yours always,

Sarah

—-

When I landed and lifted my head listening to the eruption of applause, I took my bow and for the first time looked into the light. Tipping my face up, I focussed on the balcony and smiled with all my heart at Ivar who, up from his chair, stood staring down, pounding his hands together, clapping. The white envelope was tucked under his arm and his beautiful smile was lit with the brightness of our future.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who wanted an epilogue. Thanks for your comments.

“Are you ready?”

“We don’t know that they are here for me,” I replied over my shoulder from where I sat at the end of the bed.

“Why else would the poachers of the Paris Ballet be sitting in on rehearsal?”

“They are not poacher,” I smacked my lips. “They attended the performance last night, so the company invited them as a courtesy.”

“Did they sit in on Giovanna’s practice?”

There was a lift to his voice. The same rise in tone he had whenever asking a question he already knew the answer to.

Clearing my throat, I threw a t-shirt on over my head, pushing my arms through the holes.

“Yes…”

“Hmm.”

Swiveling I looked at him. God, he could be smug….and sexy, lying in bed, propped up on pillows. The cover was tossed across his lower body shielding only part of his nakedness. For a man who worked out maybe three times a week, his body was a freaking work of art.

“What?” I asked as he caught me ogling his toned flesh, with a fat smirk on his face.

“I think you should just quit the ballet and… sit on my face professionally.”

“Oh yeah?” I flashed him a smile. “You, Ivar Lothbrok, couldn’t afford it.”

“Come here,” he smiled sitting up, motioning like he was going to reach for me.

Grimacing, I looked away, “I’m still feeling crummy.”

“Shutting me down twice in a row?” he groaned pretending to be defeated.

Glancing back, I shot him a look which turned his smile downright bratty. Standing, I headed to the dresser and opened the drawer, grabbing my dance gear for the day.

“Sarah?”

The pensiveness in his voice made me stop and turn back to him. 

“If you get an offer, how long before you leave?”

The muscles in my stomach knotted. Of course, I had been thinking about it as well, as much as I tried not to. Inhaling quietly, I noticed him working to keep his expression neutral, but I knew he was panicking inside. It was so endearing; it made my heart ache.

The past seven months of living together had been amazing… and accepting a dream offer, if one came, would be bittersweet. Spending Christmas, our birthdays, quiet evenings together, it just kept getting better and better. Yes, there had been hiccups and situations where we had to figure shit out but he had given me the space he promised. It was hard on him, the long practices, nonexistent weekends, rarely eating supper together, however, moving in and letting my apartment go, without question, was the right choice. Knowing I would always come home to him gave him a sense of relief and he relaxed with that feeling of security.

Watching him now, his eyes drifting from me, scanning the bedroom, biting his tongue at the state of his formally pristine apartment. My clothes and shoes were exploding out his walk-in closest, my makeup spread out over the top of the dresser, two, no three, half-empty glasses of water in this very room, my already swollen heart was about to rupture. How he opened his world to me made me cling to him even more, my level of sucky affection finally matching his. We were smitten, grotesquely in love, and living together felt so easy.

But now….. this… Paris…the possibility of it being real was confronting. Standing across the room, I could hear the gears in his head turn. God, I loved him.

“If I get an offer, I’m assuming I would need to be there in a few weeks.

Nodding he acknowledged what I said but remained quiet. His throat dipping noticeably with his swallow.

Looking down, I ran my toe over the callus on the inside of my other foot. “Would you come?” I glanced back up.

“Come?” He sat up from the pillows, his forehead scrunched in question.

“With your work and everything here, would you be able to move with me? To Paris? I know it’s asking a lot.”

“Really?” His smile broke, stretching across his bright face. “You want me to come?”

I nodded, my own smile mirroring his. “I didn’t know if you’d be able to with work and… brotherly dynamics.”

“Fuck them,” he scoffed. “I work from home mostly and when I do go in, I feel like I want to murder everyone.”

“That’s normal,” I laughed, rolling my eyes.

“I could work remotely and just fly back once or twice a month. God, I’ve been stressing about this for months,” he groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. “How little we’d be able to see each other.”

As run down as I felt, I needed him. His support and sweetness reeling me in. Sparkling with excitement, his eyes landed on mine again and by the look on his face, his brain was racing through the logistics.

Stepping forward, I crawled onto the bed, climbing on hands and knees up his body as he flopped back into his pillows with a grin. Opening his arms, he beckoned me close and I lowered down onto his front, his arms folding around me, my face hovering over his. The elation and relief radiated off him like a fever and it only fuelled the warmth spreading through my body. 

My eyes roamed his perfect skin and refined features, vivid eyes, and smooth lips. Gah, over a year together and his handsomeness still made my stomach flip-flop. Reaching up, he swept the hair hanging against my cheek back, tucking it behind me ear, his hand lingering in place. Shutting my eyes, I leaned into it, my entire body beginning to wake. How? How could this man create such yearning? Satisfy me so intensely, every time.

Stroking his fingers across my jaw, he slid his palm under my chin, gently squeezing my throat before wrapping his large hand around the back of my neck.

“Baby,” his eyes flitted down to my parted lips. “Nothing can part us,” his words and breath danced across my mouth.

The muscles in my jaw and shoulders, back, and thighs relaxed, taking solace in his words. He must have felt my strain release, as his hold around me tightened, pulling me even closer, my face dropping down beside his head into the pillow. The long hours rehearsing six days a week and performing Thursday to Sunday had taken its toll. I was worn out and feeling vulnerable.

“You are working yourself too hard,” he spoke softly, the sound of his voice humming through his cheek into mine. “I can tell you need rest.”

“Just two more days and I can take all of Monday off. Maybe we can go somewhere.”

“Or… we can pretend we’re sick and camp out on the couch. Order food and play video games all day.”

Snorting I lifted my head, looking at him, “You mean, you will play video games and I‘ll sleep on the couch beside you.”

“Fuck yeah, sounds amazing,” he grinned again, showing his straight, white teeth.

“Hey,” my tone steadied, sounding serious and I watched his smile fade, his eyes searching mine. “I love you, Ivar.”

Tilting up, he kissed me. His warm mouth as soft and welcoming as always. His tongue skimmed across my lips, retreating and calling me to deepen the kiss. How easily his tender lips could sweep me away.

“Hmm,” a sound escaped me as I shifted the position of my head, my lips taking the lead. Having not made love in nearly two days, I felt starved for him to be inside me.

Breaking away, I lowered my face under his chin and gently sucked and kissed the skin of his throat. Dropping his hands to my ribs, his fingers dragged down my sides, his fingers exploring my panty-less skin. Moaning from the feel of my mouth on his collar bone, he grabbed the bottom of my shirt and started tugging. 

“This can go,” he said as I straightened letting him lift my shirt up over my head and arms, tossing it onto the floor.

His blue eyes scanned down my front, clearly adoring the features of my body. God, I needed him. Every part of him. He made me feel so beautiful.

Not waiting any longer, I dropped forward, pressing my breasts against his smooth broad chest, the sensation making me squirm. His mouth was hungry and when I brought my lips back to his, he held the sides of my face, devouring me, kissing with an edge of arousal that only stoked the fire between us.

Rolling my hips, I rubbed my tingling core along the length of his hardness causing him to hiss against my lips. Rocking upwards, he growled, the vibration rumbling up into my chest. Without breaking our mouths apart, I lifted and reached down between us grabbing the base of his cock and lined the tip up with my slick entrance. Gradually lowering down, his thickness and length spread my walls, pushing up to the back of my womb. Christ, it felt right, and we moaned into each other’s mouths.

As if sensing what he needed, I lifted, allowing him to rock up into me, slowly, languidly, driving his cock in and out. Breaking his mouth from mine, he closed his eyes, seeming to savour the feel of his steady strokes.

“Fuck,” I breathed, tipping my face up, my chin resting on his cheek.

Bending his legs, he dug his heels into the mattress and continued slowly pumping, every inch of his gorgeous cock, grating my sensitive insides. There was no roughness, no race, just slow rhythmic movements.

“My love,” I murmured, tilting my mouth toward his ear. “Just like that.”

“I know what you need,” he whispered sweetly, his hands running up and down my back.

“You do,” I closed my eyes knowing there was no truer an answer.

Over the months of living together, his touch and love-making had changed. There was an ease to it now. A contentment. His kisses were softer, more appreciating. Gone was the frenzied claiming and possessive handling from before. He loved with this new sense of trust, knowing that he truly held my heart.

His movements picked up speed, his hands sliding down to the cheeks of my ass. Gripping, he pulled me harder against him, spreading my bottom apart, the cool air hitting the back of my wetness as his shaft slid in and out. Squeezing harder, his hips began to snap against me, forcing me to curl my hips digging my front into the bone above his cock.

“I love you so much,” he murmured with shaky breath as he pressed his face into my throat, his breath hot on my skin.

“God,” I whined, feeling my stomach begin to tighten, my clit itching for more friction, my insides aching for the next thrusts. “I’ve got to move,” I cried as I straightened upright, plunging down hard onto him, driving him deep inside.

Leaning my hands on his chest, I rutted fast, my eyes squeezing shut, knowing I was seconds away from breaking.

“Do it, baby,” he urged, tilting his pelvis up, clutching my hips hard, guiding me back and forth. Reaching up he cupped and kneaded my breasts, my nipples sharp and sensitive, the skin on my chest and back rising in goosebumps. “Yeah, do it. Ride me,” he urged in a growl, “Cum, baby. I want your sweetness all over me. You’re so fucking perfect.”

Small whimpers escaped us both as our bodies’ need for the other took over. Rutting, fingers clawing, he tilted forward licking and sucking my nipples and every part of my flesh he could reach. The sensations were intoxicating, charged with devotion and need.

“Ivar,” I cried, my head dropping back. “Ivar!” I whined again as my orgasm hit, my walls clamping around him as I compulsively ground down, grinding my clit, the head of his cock stroking back and forth inside. My pussy thrummed, tightening on his shaft, my thighs trembled, and my upper body began to shake.

Grabbing me by the arms, he yanked me down to his chest and began pounding up from below. Our lips connected roughly, and we panted against each others’ mouths. His hands bracing my body as his hips relentlessly drove up into me feeling intense and electric. My orgasm rolled on, throbbing and quaking around him, his rocking pressing perfectly on my front. My breath was ragged as he grunted wildly with each thrust.

“I’m gonna fill your pussy baby. RIGHT. NOW.” Gritting his teeth, he drove up one last time, growling louder than I had ever heard and emptied his seed inside. Pumping slowly a few more times, he shivered before slowing his movements to a stop

Slumping, his head flopped back to the pillow, his legs flattened to the mattress as he sighed with sweet exhaustion. Resting my face against the side of his neck, I gripped his body like a sloth, nearly giggling at the feeling of our juices working their way out.

“My love,” I whispered feeling grateful for everything we had endured to reach this very moment, believing there wasn’t a thing that could ever tear us apart.

“Me sweet,” he whispered back, pressing his lips to my temple, nuzzling his face into my hair. I had never felt so loved or so excited about the future.

—-

*Ringing*

Rushing back to my bag on the wooden table, I picked up my phone not checking the ID, assuming it was Ivar calling to wish me luck. Bringing it to my ear, I glanced back at the directors sitting on the far side of the room, chatting with the visiting man and woman. Both were impeccably dressed and looked like they fed on bowls of talent for breakfast. God, Paris must be fierce. 

“Hello.”

“Ms. Pearson?”

“Yes.”

“It’s Ida from The Oslo Medical Clinic.”

“Yes?” I tried to not sound impatient. 

“The doctor has asked that you make an appointment to come in, as soon as can. Not to panic you but something has come up with the results of your pap screen.”

“Oh! That’s okay, don’t worry.” Turning back, I again checked the chatting guests sitting to the side of the dance floor. “All the women in my family have funny tissue. It often comes back as suspicious but it’s always fine.”

“Sarah, the doctor would like to see you. Can you come today?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t. I just don’t have time this week. I’ll call after the weekend and maybe set something up.”

“Ms. Pearson, your pregnancy test came back positive.”

“Ah, there’s been an error. I didn’t take a pregnancy test.” The pianist entered, catching my eye, heading for the piano. “Sorry, I really need to go.”

“Sarah, we dipped your urine. It’s part of the standard check-up. You are pregnant. I dislike discussing this over the phone. Can you please come in after work?”

“What?”

What! I screamed in my head. This can’t be real.

“Sarah? Ms. Pearson?”

“I can come at 5. Will anyone be there at 5?”

“Yes dear, see you then.”

How did this happen, I asked myself, tossing my phone back into my bag? I had only ever had spotting while with Ivar. God! Pins and needles began to spread across the skin of my face and I instantly felt cold. I couldn’t think about this now. I had to dance. I had to dance for Paris.

——

Unlocking the door that night, I walked in with a white paper bag in hand given to me by the doctor at the clinic. Inside, were details on nutrition, a list of OBGYN’s in the city, a sample bottle of prenatal vitamins and a dark purple pamphlet titled, Unexpected Pregnancy - Now What?

Literally, like a fool, I had sat in front of the doctor and at age twenty-seven, cried, asking how this happened. The poor woman, no wonder she included the pamphlet. 

Now, frozen like a statue in the front entrance, I listened to Ivar’s cane clicking toward me from the kitchen.

“So?”

Bobbing around the corner, I could tell by his pinched face that under his excitement he was annoyed I hadn’t returned any of his texts.

“I got an offer,” I said in a voice completely void of emotion. “Paris. Starting in four weeks. Decent money. Everything.” I sounded like a fucking robot.

“That’s great!” Smiling, he straightened, but his brows furrowed as he looked at me. Scratching behind his ear with his thumb, he dropped his head to one side. “Isn’t it?” 

“And… I’m pregnant.”

I have never seen a person’s eyes grow that large in my life. His head shot back like he’d been punched in the face. Dropping his gaze, he first looked down in the direction of my non-existent stomach, hidden by my oversized coat, then glanced over to the white bag in my hand.

“Is it for sure or…” he stopped, staring, frozen like I felt.

“The doctor’s office apparently checks as part of a regular screening and they called me today. I went there on my way home and… I definitely am.

“But I thought…”

“I guess… I don’t know anything.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” I whispered, my eyes lowering to look at the rug on the entrance tile floor.

“Are you…okay?” His voice was quiet. Unreadable.

I could only shrug. I didn’t know. I felt so disconnected.

“Let’s sit down.” Without waiting, he turned and moved in the direction of the living room, glancing back to see that I was coming.

Side by side we sat, me in my coat, the white bag still in my hand, neither of us saying a thing. He was silent. I was silent and it was starting to get dark. We must be broken, I thought, screwed up by our families. This isn’t how normal people react. Glancing over at him, I quickly looked away, staring at the fireplace and vase of silk peonies on the mantle. 

“Paris…. I can’t dance pregnant,” I exhaled, my breath sounding shaky. 

It wouldn’t wait. How long until I could return after having a baby? How much time would I be out? Oh right! You fucking idiot, I blasted myself. I wouldn’t just be pregnant and then return to my life after giving birth. There would be a whole human at the end of it. What would I do with a human? I was potentially going to be a mom at twenty-seven and I still felt like a child! Yes, I knew tons of people younger than me with kids but…. that was them. Paris. It was my dream. My life’s passion. I was so close. Not even close, I was there. I would be trying to get back into prime condition, training eight hours a day with a baby and still likely never be given another shot. My mother! My poor mother. Is this what she was faced with? Would I too resent my own child?

Jolted from my thoughts, Ivar straightened his cane with his hand and pushed himself up from the couch. Without a word or a second look, he walked toward the kitchen.

“Ivar?”

“I can’t be here right now.”

“What?”

“I’m leaving.”

“What! We haven’t even talked. What are you doing?”

“Sarah,” he spun around, his eyes strange. “I can’t…” shaking his head as if baffled, he squinted at me. “You don’t fucking get it. I can’t be around you right now.”

My mouth dropped. I was gobsmacked. Grabbing his phone from the bar, he walked straight out the front door, closing it behind. Gone. Just left me alone, upset and….. pregnant.

—

9 pm came and went. 11 pm, midnight, nothing. No call, no response to my texts or voice mails. My emotions ranged from angry and confused to hurt but mostly worried. Where was my Ivar and what was going on in that head of his? Is this what I had put him through all those maniacal weeks leading up to the start of the season? Christ.

The room was too quiet, and I felt like I had been in a car wreck. Exhausted, sore and strangely crampy but perhaps that was in my head.

At 1:30 am, I had to sleep. I didn’t know where he was or what was going on, but I had to stop my mind from spiraling. All the possibilities filtering through. Wondering if he was afraid that his condition might pass on. Was he upset that I may have misled him about my period? I believed in my heart that he loved me but perhaps he just didn’t want a child with me.

Having to be at the theatre for 7:30 am, I turned off the light. Obviously, he wasn’t going to respond. Closing my eyes, the first tear slipped out from under my lids. I must have been too confused or in shock earlier but now I couldn’t stop crying. Were we over? Was he done?

In seven months, I had not once slept a night without him and here I was, a single knocked up ballerina, just as my mother had been. Perhaps, given everything… maybe my mom had done her best.

It felt like five minutes later but glancing at the clock as I reached for my ringing phone, I saw that it was just after 5 am. The room was still shaded, and it appeared I hadn’t moved an inch in my sleep.

“Hello.”

“Sarah”

It wasn’t him. Why wasn’t it him?

“Yes.”

“Its Ubbe.”

“Hi.”

“Look, Ivar’s fucked up.”

“We both are but I didn’t walk out.” My venom shot out before I could stop it. 

“Yeah, I get it. Well, you know what I mean, but listen, he’s in bad shape. He’s finally fallen asleep upstairs.”

“I don’t know what to say Ubbe. This is really messed up.”

“Sarah! Fuck, you’ve got to give him a chance to explain everything. When Ivar turns to his big brother, you know its serious. Please, just come and talk to him. Let him sleep a few hours but he needs you.”

“I have to be at work this morning. Umm… tell him, I’ll be home for 5 pm.

“Work?”

“Yes,” I answered defensively.

“Okay,” he sighed.

What did Ubbe know about my life?

“I’ll make sure he’s home at your place for 5.”

“Okay.”

—-

Ubbe was right. Rounding the dining room table to take a chair adjacent to Ivar, it hit me in the guts how aweful he looked. Pale, sweaty, dark circles around his eyes with an expression like he’d been staring at a fuzzy tv screen for a week.

“Hi,” I whispered sitting down, awkwardly pushing the chair out to give myself more room. This was all so strange.

“Hi,” he nodded, his eyes jumping down to his hands fiddling with a pen on the table.

Had he been writing me a note? There was no paper there. Home early, had I surprised him halfway through a goodbye letter?

“You’re off early.” Clearing his throat, he attempted to…. I don’t know, make small talk. This was uncomfortable.

“I called in sick today.”

“Are you sick?” His eye flashing back to mine.

“No. Well, I’m tired.”

“Where have been? I got home a couple of hours ago.”

“I don’t know. No where. Everywhere. I rode the bus for a couple of hours.”

Frowning, he continued to look at me.

“Ate a falafel on a bench in a park. Watched seagulls. I don’t know,” I shook my head.

Nodding, he looked down into his lap and I knew he had been on his own journey the past however many hours.

Lifting a small black velvet box, he placed it on the table between us. There was no doubt in my mind as to what was inside. I wanted to cry. My sweetheart looked so broken.

“You don’t need to purpose to me because of this?” I said in my most gentle voice.

“Nope.” Shaking his head, his eyes stared at the box. “This has nothing to do with that.”

“Did you go out and buy it today?” I wanted to reach over and grab his hand or sit in his lap and hug him. Ease whatever was going on in his head but the look of determination on his face stopped me. “Ivar, I think you are upset and…”

“No, Sarah,” tipping his head forward, he silently asked me to listen. “I,” he cleared his throat and I could see his emotions building. He looked down at the box. “I bought this ring three weeks after I met you. Just after we got together.” Looking up, his tears spilled down his cheeks and my eyes instantly began to water. Swallowing, he cleared his throat, quickly brushing his eyes dry with the back of his hand.

“I… fuck,” he swore under his breath, clearing his throat again. “I have always known I wanted to be with you. No matter what. You’re it for me and I know you aren’t traditional and don’t believe in marriage or whatever, but I am giving this ring to you. You can wear it on your finger, or a necklace, even throw it in a drawer, that’s up to you. What I want you to know is that I’m all in. Whatever you decide.” Clearing his throat, he nearly choked, more tears spilling over the rim of his eyes, “And…that I love you.”

And I loved him. I had loved him since the start, but I had never loved him more than I did at this moment. Beneath the table, my hands gripped together, my nail dug into the inside of my thumb as I struggle not to reach for him. My touch would have burst him wide open.

“I couldn’t be around you last night,” he continued. “No matter what I would have said, I would have fucked everything up.”

Dropping my head to the side, I scrunched my forehead, not understanding.

“I couldn’t show you how happy I was because I was terrified that this baby, our baby, meant that you would have to walk away from your dreams. From Paris. The whole thing and I nearly lost you over that before. I want a baby with you so badly, I could,” he shook his head, “scream. But I know that I can’t ask you to give up your life….” his voice cracked and he stopped and took a deep breath. “And I couldn’t,” he closed his eyes and I could see the agony in his face. “I could not stay here if there was a possibility that you were going to tell me that you weren’t….going through with the pregnancy.”

That was it. My tears fell. Thick and hot like lava down my face.

Reaching forward, I pulled the black box, sliding it closer to me. Popping it open, I wasn’t surprised in the least. It was perfect. Gorgeous. The quintessential engagement ring. A massive diamond, prong-set, brilliant cut, with a simple white gold band. It was stunning.

I took a deep breath. “I walked around all day today by myself. Before you, I had always been on my own. So, I had this picture, this clear picture in my mind of who I was and what I wanted for myself. I want to dance, Ivar. I am a dancer.”

Glancing up, I saw his eyes were closed, his jaw tight.

“Ivar,” he opened his eyes and looked at me. The guarded look of the man I first met was back, his body tight, his shoulders tense. “I am a dancer and I will not, cannot, give that up and so I won’t.” Leaving the ring box, I finally reached out and grabbed his hand. “But I won’t give you or this baby up either. Not a chance.”

Blowing air out his mouth, his eyes flashed wide.

“Yeah,” I nodded, knowing he needed more assurance.

“We are doing this?” he leaned toward me, his eyes large and hopeful.

“Yes, Ivar. We are doing this,” I smiled, the tears blurring my sight, “and I’m not going to marry you, but I will wear your beautiful ring. Proudly.”

“Sarah, I fucking love you.”

Both pushing back our chairs, we rose at the same time, rushing into an embrace. His large, strong arms wrapped around me; my face pressed into his chest where it belonged.

“I love you so much, Ivar.”

Tipping my head up, he kissed me and kissed me, pulling his hands back to reach up and cup my face. 

“Come,” he took my hand pulling me from the dining room. “Lie with me, okay? I need to feel you beside me after last night… and I barely slept. I want to make love to you and then sleep.” Stopping he glanced back, his expression looking worried. “Carefully. We’ll do it carefully.”

Snorting, I laughed at his earnest face. “Ivar, I can have sex.”

“No more on top though. That can’t be safe. I read half the goddamn internet on pregnancy last night. I can’t remember what it said about sex on top.”

Here is comes, I thought, he’s going to manage and research every detail during this entire pregnancy.

Turning back again, he drew his eyebrows together. “No more sushi or coffee.”

“Please!” I scoffed.

“Nope,” he shook his head. “No soft cheeses or long hot baths either. Nothing that could harm the baby. That’s my child inside of you Sarah. Shit,” he stopped, scanning the walls of the hall, “Maybe we should buy a house…,” he seemed to be talking more to himself.

Smiling, with my heart full of love, my mind swirling with questions about the future, I followed him to our bed.

—

Had I given up on my dream? Possibility. I think my dream changed though. I realized it that day sitting watching families in the park, playing, kids racing back to their moms or dads with a daisy, calling to be watched going down the slide. Yes, dancing in Paris would have been amazing, but what could possibly be more fulfilling than that. Us. A family together. I had sacrificed so much for ballet, but I would not sacrifice them.

After Alice was born, I stayed home and when she turned a year, I took a chorus position dancing again with the company. I was never away from her longer than four hours at a time and it was only three days a week. Not that Ivar ever put her down long enough for me to get my hands on her. I was even worried she’d be late to walk because of how much he carried her. I would joke that since her arrival, I was purely the maid. 

He was a good dad. A great one. Hands-on, doing it all. Buying far too many pairs of shoes. She was two years old now, fierce and sharp as tac with more pairs of shoes than I had owned in my entire life. That was the problem with leaving her with her father while I was dancing. She got anything she wanted. He’d say, “But she wanted them. How can I deny her? And their patten, Sarah. Red patten.”

Sure, I had moments where I felt the loss of what could have been watching Nicole dancing lead. But nothing, absolutely nothing beat walking in after a performance to a dark apartment, stepping over various toys and books and finding Ivar and Alice cuddled up in bed, a wall of pillows built along the side where I would slip in. Yeah, nothing beat that. This was my dream. This life. The three of us together.

“Hi,” he whispered, lifting his head, as I settled into the eight inches of room left in the bed.

“Hi.”

“How did it go?”

“Good.”

His eyes held mine for a moment. “Just good?”

I laughed.

“Shhh,” he hushed. “Don’t you dare wake up my daughter.”

Rolling my eyes, I smiled back settling into the pillow, Ivar’s face just visible above Alice’s wild blonde hair.

I shrugged, “I might be ready to leave the theatre.”

Surprised, he lifted his brows but waited for me to continue.

“They’ve been great these last months but…I think it’s time. I had to go back for a while to see what it was like but, I’m missing out on so much here. I hate not having supper with you guys on show nights and not kissing her goodnight.

“I know babe, but we do okay.”

“I know you do but I’ve been thinking about teaching again. Making my own schedule.”

“Didn’t that little place close?”

“It did but what do you think about the sound of The Pearson School of Dance?”

“Oh!” he smiled, “you have been thinking about this.”

“Yeah, here and there. She won’t be little forever and what if we have a second?”

“True,” he grinned, his eyes gleaming.

“So, what do you think?”

“Honestly?”

“Yeah,” I lifted up, resting on my elbow.

“I like the sound of The Lothbrok School of Dance better?”

Glancing down, I looked at Alice. Her sweet cherub face and her puffy upper lip swooping out from under her little nose. God, she looked peaceful when she slept.

Smiling, I looked back up. “Okay.”

“Okay? Yeah?”

“Let’s do it.”

“The school?”

“All of it. I want to be a Lothbrok too.”

Lifting his head off the pillow, he squinted his eyes. “You’ll marry me?”

“Yes.”

Smiling, he reached his hand out and I grabbed on, awkwardly holding it above our sprawled out toddler.

“Want to meet me on the couch and talk about it?” He bit his lip, his eyes sparkling with his smile.

Laughing lightly, I squeezed his hand. “You mean, meet on the couch and start on baby number two?”

“Fuck yeah, sounds amazing.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Sarah!”

Flinching and nearly slicing off my finger, I turned to look at Ivar, leaning on his crutch in front of the fridge, gawking at me…. exasperated.

“Jesus!” I said, “I almost cut myself.”

“What is going on here?” he gawked again, pointing in the direction of the couch. Of course, I knew what he was referring to but I didn’t feel like indulging him, so I just shrugged as if I didn’t know.

“Alice, hmm?” His voice shot high as it did when he was being dramatic. “Sleeping at 5 pm, Sarah?”

Turning back to my cucumber and feta, I continued making salad while our 2-year-old, Alice, lay fast asleep on the couch in the living room.

Not getting the reaction he wanted, he huffed and stalked across the kitchen, stopping to stand directly behind me.

“You know how important it is for her to keep to her sleep schedule. Good days, make for good nights.”

“I know, I know… but she refused to nap no matter what I tried, and she wasn’t going to last through supper, so…” I shrugged again.

Standing still and saying nothing for a moment, he then stepped in closer to me, his breath hitting the skin of my exposed shoulder. Suddenly, his large hand cupped my bottom, startling me, making me gasp and nearly giggle.

“Is it sundress weather already?” he asked straining to maintain his stern tone.

“It was today,” I replied, popping a piece of red pepper into my mouth.

“Hmm,” he mumbled, moving even closer, his front pressing against me, his arms snaking around my waist and his groin digging into my ass.

“I haven’t seen this dress before.”

Softly, his lips touched the side of my neck and my hand froze, the knife suspended over a tomato.

“Yes, you have,” I answered, smiling and placing the knife down on the cutting board.

“How long until supper?” he asked, mumbling against my shoulder, running soft kisses up my neck and behind my ear; my skin instantly rising in goosebumps.

“Twenty minutes until the chicken is done.” Tipping my head back, I hummed, loving the feel of his gentle mouth and the feel of his arms around me.

Not answering, he ground his erection harder into my backside and exhaled heavily into my ear, my body, of course, responding; my skin warming and a tingle starting between my legs making me grind back against him.

“Well, if you insist,” I sighed, feigning defeat, “go wake her so she isn’t up until ten tonight. I know how attached you are to the schedule.”

“I’m not going to be the bad guy!” he scoffed, grabbing me by the sides and spinning me around to face him; his eyes had a twinkle and he was biting his lower lip as he did in these sorts of situations. Leaning forward, he rubbed his nose against my cheek. “In all of our efforts the last couple of weeks trying for baby number two, I’ve been neglecting you….”

“Neglecting me?”

Hardly, the man in his need to see me swollen with another child had been dicking me down every time I crossed the room in front of him.

“Yes, I haven’t been taking care of you… properly,” he smirked, kissing me in a breathy way, swirling his tongue against mine.

Reaching down between us, he lifted the front of my short dress, cupping my sex over my panties. Smoothly, expertly, his fingers worked their way under the thin fabric and I instinctively shifted my feet further apart.

“Look at this, see,” his forehead spiked high, “just talking about it has you worked up,” he grinned, obviously pleased with himself.

“Ivar, I need to finish supper,” I groaned, motioning, pretending that I was going move away but by the slickness beneath my panties, he knew he had me. Kissing me harder, he forced my mouth wide, delving his tongue in deep. Grabbing my waist, he pulled his lips back and heaved me up onto the island, stepping between my legs.

Opening my mouth as if to object, he pointed a finger and shot me a look of warning.

“Scream, I dare you,” he threatened, jerking his head in the direction of the living room where there was still no sign of our sleeping toddler on the other side of the couch. “Now, be a good girl and spread your legs,” he smiled and this time it was downright wicked.

Lowering myself back, I rested on my elbows, lifting my legs and pausing so he could finish pulling down my panties. Slipping them off, he bunched them into a ball and stuffed them into his jeans pocket.

Grabbing my knees he lifted and I pointed my toes, spreading my legs wide open; all my years of ballet, at last, paying off in that moment. Wouldn’t my mother be proud?

“Now you are just showing off,” he clucked his tongue, narrowing his eyes. 

I flinched at the feel of his fingers spreading my folds, the pad of his thumb instantly finding my clit. Gasping at the contact, I dropped my head back but his face was too handsome, his freshly cut hair too sexy not to look back up and into his blazing eyes.

“All this wetness,” he whispered, his eyes flitting down, taking his time as his thumb delicately worked my special spot. “All for me, hmm?”

Together nearly fours year, I knew him well enough to know that he wasn’t actually wanting an answer. He just liked to talk. Still, I smiled, my legs twitching from the movement of his hand, my breath almost a pant.

“Let me just…” bringing his thumb up, he sucked it between his lips, closing his eyes as if savouring the taste. Gazing back down, he brought his other hand up and spread my folds apart, letting out an appreciative hum that morphed into a deep groan. 

“Look at this pretty little pussy, fuck!” he rushed, a flash of darkness flitting across his face. Growling, his mouth dropped open and his eyelids partially closed as if just the sight of it brought him as much pleasure as his hands were bringing me. Applying more pressure, he pushed a finger inside, making me jolt and cry out.

“I’m going to play with this little spot right here,” he flicked my clit as if strumming a guitar making me whimper again.

“I’m going to put my face between these beautiful legs,” his other hand ran up and down the inside of my thigh, “and my mouth on these little pink frills and suck up all of your sweetness. Then, I’m going to drill my tongue inside your perfect pussy and lick your clit until you beg me to let you cum.”

Unable to stop myself, I began rocking my hips, the combination of my wetness and his pumping fingers making an obscene wet sound.

“Then I’m going to bring you to that point, that exact point where you can’t take anymore and are on the verge of losing it, begging me to unzip my jeans and throw my cock into you, fuck you hard and empty my load before I…”

“Dadda?” Alice’s little voice cried from the other side of the living room. Jolting upright, his eyes flashed wide and he yanked down the front of my dress, flashing me an accusatory glare like I had coerced him into something elicit.

“I’m right here baby-girl.” He grabbed his crutch from where it leaned against the counter. “Dadda’s on his way,” he called to her, racing out of the kitchen.

“Wrapped,” I muttered under my breath hopping down; from behind I could hear his soft cooing words as he picked up our groggy little girl. “Right around her tiny, little finger,” I continued to myself, shaking my head with a grin.

His voice snapped from the living room, “I heard that!”


End file.
